If Wishes Were Horses
by Sugarpony
Summary: Revised and revived! More than twenty-five thousand children in Japan are victims of child abuse, but no one expected Seigaku's favorite freshman to be one of the statistics. What happened to a mother's love?
1. If wishes were horses

AN: Hello, y'all! Before you begin to read, please take the time to look over my author's note.

**To Rinko fans:** I would recommend turning away now if you do not like the fact that Rinko will be my antagonist. I do not know her character very well (it's not really explored very well in the manga or anime) and have thus manipulated it to fulfill my needs. She will be OOC, and you will probably hate me for what I am going to have her do. Do not flame me, for you have been warned.

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's _Changechildren_.

About Japanese: In Japan, the honorific system is an important part of the language. Many of these honorifics do not translate well, and some of those can be used as words on their own. As such, the only Japanese I will use in this story are directly related to the honorific system. Translations will be at the bottom of each chapter.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warnings**: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, OOC.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter One

* * *

_If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._

_If turnips were watches, I would wear one by my side._

_And if "ifs" and "ands"_

_Were pots and pans,_

_There'd be no work for tinkers!_

-"If Wishes Were Horses," a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

"See ya tomorrow, Echizen!" Momoshiro waved goodbye to his friend as the two separated for the evening. Ryoma shouldered his tennis bag and turned the corner, heading for his own home. It was currently the off season, but the tennis club met after classes every afternoon regardless. Now that Ryoma had finally joined his senpai at Seishun High School, he and Momoshiro had returned to their tradition of grabbing burgers after practice, conning one of their elder teammates into buying whenever they could.

Today, Ryoma had been stuck with the bill, since Momoshiro had changed his plans of visiting a sports equipment store to join him. But as much of a sour face Ryoma had made at his friend's insistence, he really didn't mind. After all, it gave him an excuse to avoid returning home for an extra two hours.

He, his father, and his mother had been living in America the last two years but had returned shortly before the spring semester had begun in order for Ryoma to finish high school with his friends. The three of them lived once again in the house behind his father's temple, but his cousin Nanako had recently married and lived across town with her new husband. His dad resumed his duties as a monk, spending his free time (as always) lying around reading porn, while his mom worked at the local division of her company's law firm.

At first glance, things were not so different from when they had lived in Japan two years prior. Ryoma, however, knew better. Things had been tense between his parents for a while. He head been hopeful that returning to Japan would help, but instead it seemed to have only made things worse. His mother and father rarely spoke, and when they did it was always in short, harsh words. And more often than not, Ryoma was caught in the middle of it.

All things considered, Ryoma didn't think it too inconceivable that he was always looking for an excuse to stay out just a little while longer. It was normal for him to drag his feet when cleaning the courts after practice and lag behind in the locker room. For the past few weeks, whenever he and Momoshiro separated, Ryoma retraced his steps and took the longer path home.

Finally, though, he turned onto his street and headed up the hill. All too soon, he was sliding open his front door and toeing off his shoes.

"I'm home," he called.

He held his breathe waiting for a response, and when none came he stepped lightly toward the stairs. As he was passing the kitchen, though, a chilled voice reach his ears.

"You're late."

Ryoma tugged the brim of his hat down over his eyes, shuffling in place. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Practice ran late."

Footsteps stormed toward him, and Ryoma braced himself as his mother slapped him across the face. "Don't you take that tone with me!" she screamed. "If you are going to be late, you should call! If you can't be grateful that a hot dinner is waiting for when you're _supposed_ to be home, then you won't eat in this house!"

Ryoma kept his eyes to the floor as he muttered another apology. Another slap followed.

"I'm tired of your excuses! You need to learn to be thankful and respectful! Starting with not wearing that hat when you're in my house!" Said hat was summarily ripped from his head, painfully jerking Ryoma's neck to one side. The boy winced as his mother's arm reared back again, but the expected blow never landed.

"Enough!"

"Nanjirou!"

Ryoma's father was tightly gripping his mother's wrist, a furious expression on his face. "_What_ do you think you're doing, Rinko?" he growled.

"Let go of me, Nanjirou!" She tugged her arm, trying to break his hold. Nanjirou glowered.

"No," he said. "I won't let you hurt our son."

Rinko stilled. "Of course," she whispered, her voice dangerously quiet. "Of course, you're taking his side. You _always_ take _his _side." She looked beseechingly into her husband's eyes. "Do I even matter to you anymore?"

Nanjirou wrapped his arms around Rinko and pulled her close. "Of course, you matter," he assured her. "You've always mattered. I _love_ you." Then he gently lifted her chin and met her eyes. "But I won't allow you to harm our son."

"_Lies_!" Rinko shoved him away, shaking her head in denial. "All lies! You_ never_ cared about me! All you ever cared about was tennis!" She fell against the wall, sobbing. "I thought we could make it work. When _he_ came along, I thought we could be a family, but it just made things worse!"

A knife twisted in Nanjirou's heart as he watched his wife fall apart.

"It was always 'Ryoma' this, 'tennis' that. Nothing I did mattered anymore! You were always with _him_, and you still are, playing tennis, teaching him new tricks, encouraging him, being in his life more than you were ever in mine! You took him away from me!"

She was yelling at Ryoma again, a dangerous glint in her eyes, as she grabbed his by both arms, squeezing tightly and viciously digging her fingernails into the flesh beneath his jacket. "You took away everything I ever had, everything I ever wanted! It's all _your_ fault! If it wasn't for you, I would still have my husband! If it wasn't for you, I never would have had to come to Japan! If it wasn't for you, I would be _happy_!"

She shook him violently and slammed him into the wall, and Ryoma winced as his head knocked into the wood. Rinko's eyes were unfocused as she continued, hysterical.

"But instead, I'm forced to take care of this family, working myself to my grave every day, and for _what_? To come home to a husband who would rather look at a stupid magazine than his own wife? To an ungrateful _brat_ who never shows _any_ thanks for what I've done for him? To a _monster_ who takes my husband away from me?

"No more!"

Nanjirou hurried forward, afraid of what his wife might do, but she had already thrown Ryoma across the room and into another wall. Before he could move, Rinko was at his throat, long, manicured fingernails digging into his neck, hands clenching and cutting off his air supply. "You're a _monster_! A _demon_! You deserve to _die_ a slow and painful death! _I wish you had never been born_!"

In less than a second the former tennis champion had crossed the room and thrown his wife off of their–no, _his_–son. "Get out." His voice was dangerously low, and he was practically growling at the woman before him.

"But, Darling!"

" _. Now._"

Rinko looked her husband in the face with heartbroken eyes, and she let out a muffled sob as she stood. "I tried," she choked, tears on her face that was already red with anger. "I really did. But it wasn't enough." With no more words, she grabbed her purse, slid into her shoes, and raced out the door onto the dark temple grounds.

Nanjirou wasted no more time on the woman and hurried to where his son sat still on the floor. A haunted look was in his usually bright golden eyes, and he made no move to get up from his spot. The monk wanted to cry, but he knew that he needed to be strong for his son. Gently, he took the broken boy into his arms and carried him up the stairs to the bathroom where he set him on the toilet seat. He then grabbed the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet, bandaged his head and neck, and left to retrieve ice for his bruises. When he returned, Ryoma still had not moved.

Sighing, Nanjirou carried his son to his bedroom, where he laid him on his bed and tucked the covers around him. Karupin curled up next to his master, sensing the boy's distress.

Echizen Nanjirou had always been a strong-willed person; after all, he had been a world champion before he had retired from his tennis career. He had always been optimistic, even though he rarely showed it. He had high hopes for his son, and he wanted to help him to achieve his full potential.

He supposed, however, that Rinko had been right, in a way. He had been too focused on Ryoma to see his wife's unhappiness. She had never been one to display her emotions, but to his credit, her husband had noticed the subtle changes in her behavior. She had, as of late, become more and more irritable, and Nanjirou had tried to approach her about the subject. She had always shrugged him off, however, and muttered an excuse about stress from work. Never would he have dreamed that his wife had been jealous of their son!

How long had this been going on? Was it a recent development, or had it been growing inside of her for months or even years? Ryoma was a symbol of their love, and Nanjirou had always seen and treated him as such. Rinko, apparently, had seen him as competition for the man's affection, and she had reacted accordingly.

Whatever the reason, though, Nanjirou would not–_could_ not–forgive his wife for her actions. She had brutally attacked their only son in numerous ways, with the intent to hurt and destroy. She was no longer the woman with whom he had fallen in love.

The Samurai, now feeling less worthy of his title than ever before, gazed sadly at his son, who had not even closed his eyes yet. Not knowing what to say, he decided to speak without thinking.

"Nothing she said is true, Ryoma," he said. There was no reaction from the boy in the bed. Nanjirou blinked hard, fighting back tears, and continued. "You haven't done anything wrong. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'd be lost without you.

"Rinko..." He swallowed hard at a lump forming in his throat. "She isn't worthy of being your mother. She was, once, but something changed. I don't think anyone could have prevented it even if we had noticed. This is all her problem, and she'll see that she's wrong, some day."

Ryoma had turned onto his side by now, as if he wanted to block out the words of comfort. "Ryoma," his dad said, "do you understand? You did _nothing_ wrong. _None_ of this is your fault." The young tennis champion, looking anything but at the moment, laid still for several moments before slowly nodding. Nanjirou breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good." They both remained where they were in silence for what seemed like hours but was really only minutes before the elder spoke again. "I'm going to call the school tomorrow morning and tell them that you'll be staying home. You need to rest now, and we both need to figure some things out." He then turned to leave the room, hesitated in the doorway, and turned back to kiss his son on the head before retiring to his own bed for the night.

Ryoma laid under the covers, unmoving, for the rest of the night. He could think of nothing but his mother's words. He had failed both of his parents as a son; he had forced his mother to leave because he had been selfish, and he had disappointed his father by being unable to defeat him in tennis. They had both sacrificed their time and worked hard for nothing. And now, his parents had both lost the love of their lives because of him.

At that moment, Echizen Ryoma, Samurai Jr., Prince of Tennis, Seigaku's star rookie, and three-time champion of the US Open wished for nothing more than to make everything return to the way it was.

At that moment, Echizen Nanjirou, the original Samurai and former tennis world champion wished for nothing more than to ease his son's and his own pain caused by his wife's betrayal.

At that moment, Echizen Rinko wished for nothing more than the death of her son and the love of her husband.

But if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

* * *

Translations:

_senpai - _upper-classman/men

* * *

AN: Wow. Has it really been almost six years since I first wrote this? That's just... wow. Anyway, here's the revamped version of chapter one. Not really any changes plot-wise, as I'm trying to keep everything as close to the original as I can. The only times I'll be changing the plot is if I find something truly cringeworthy, as the whole point of this revamp is to get the story in a shape where I can feel confident finishing it with my writing skills and style that have changes in the past (wow!) almost six years.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!

-Sugarpony

**Completed: 4/02/07**

**Edited: 6/20/07**

**Second Edit: 2/09/08**

**Third Edit: 3/25/08**

**Fourth Edit: 1/05/13**


	2. One for sorrow

AN: Wow. I've never been called a Golden God before...

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm glad that someone likes my story. Chapter one was only an introductory chapter; I'll be going into a lot more detail about background in this one. You'll get to learn the story of how all of this happened.

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's _Changechildren_.

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, attempted suicide, OOC. Nothing too bad other than the psychological abuse.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Two

* * *

_One for sorrow,_

_Two for joy,_

_Three for a girl,_

_Four for a boy,_

_Five for silver,_

_Six for gold,_

_Seven for a secret_

_Never to be told._

-"One for Sorrow," a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

One for sorrow . . .

* * *

_The first time his mother hit him was a year after they had returned to America._

_Ryoma walked into the kitchen, tired and sweaty from a match with his father. Rinko was at the counter, chopping vegetables in order to make a salad to be eaten with dinner. The young tennis champion crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled open the door, looking inside for something to quench his thirst. After several moments, he decided on a grape soda and pulled the tab on the can as he let the door fall shut. Rinko gave her son a disapproving stare. "Ryoma, no sugary drinks before dinner."_

_Her son ignored her, grumbling under his breath. "Stupid America," he muttered. "Dumb country doesn't have Ponta."_

"_Ryoma." His mother paused at her cutting board, turning to the young teenager. "Are you listening to me? I said no sugary drinks before dinner, so put that away."_

_Still, the boy did nothing more than stand in the doorway and give a short "No."_

_Suddenly, the woman strode across the floor and slapped her son across the face. Ryoma dropped his drink in shock, brought a hand to touch his stinging cheek, and stared at his mother. Her face was frustrated and very angry. He suddenly realized that, in his post-game sulking, he had not remembered the fact that his mom only ever made salad when she had had a particularly tiring day and was best left alone on these occasions. He tugged his hat over his face, softly whispering, "Sorry."_

_The woman returned to her chopping, apparently somewhat calmer. "Clean up this mess," she snapped, and her son hurried to obey her orders._

_Ryoma never had sugar before dinner again._

* * *

Ryoma lie awake in bed, absent-mindedly petting Karupin. His father had brought breakfast into his room an hour ago as he pretended to sleep, but he had yet to touch it. His mind was full of thoughts of the previous night. He was used to it, he supposed, his mother's actions. And yet... every time she hit him, a little more of his heart was torn away. He had tried to be a good son, he truly had, but he supposed that it hadn't been enough. _Maybe something's wrong with me,_ he thought. _Maybe that's why nothing I do is ever good enough. I'm not even good enough at tennis..._

It was true, too. He was a champion, yes, but he still had a lot to achieve. His father had forever given up professional tennis in order to train him, but Ryoma was still unable to defeat his teacher. He had activated the Pinnacle of Perfection, but it had no where near the power that his dad's did. He had been learning tennis since before he was able to properly hold a racquet, but he still struggled to win a single game against his father.

Maybe Nanjirou knew that his son would never match his level of play. Maybe this was why, despite teaching him how to play the game, Nanjirou never taught Ryoma any of his specialty tricks. Everything he knew about Nitoryu and the Twist Serve Ryoma had learned by mimicking his father. He had yet to master these, let alone to begin to understand how to perform the Echizen Zone. Nanjirou had left his tennis days behind him only to be failed by his son.

_I'll always be not good enough..._

Ryoma glanced at the glaring numbers on his clock which read ten thirty before moving to his desk and resolutely writing a letter.

* * *

. . . Two for joy . . .

* * *

_Ryoma had been overjoyed the first time he scored a game off of his father._

_It was a chilly day in November, not quite cold enough for snow, but the Samurai had been bored and challenged his son to a tennis match, who had eagerly accepted, having been equally as bored himself. The Nanjirou Zone was already in affect, and both players had activated the Pinnacle of Perfection (Nanjirou, once learning of his son's ability, had become increasingly serious when the two played one another)._

_Growing bored of chasing the ball around the court while his father stood in one spot, Ryoma used his newly perfected Snake Shot, courtesy of Kaidoh Kaoru. Nanjirou, who had never seen his son use this ability, was promptly thrown off balance, believing that his son had finally defeated the Zone, only to be amazed when it zoomed to where he had been standing seconds later. Far from becoming discouraged by this turn of events, however, Nanjirou simply smirked at his son and finished the match six games to one in less than five minutes. Ryoma, though, was ecstatic, and he strutted around the house with a smirk on his face for the remainder of the day._

_His good mood rapidly deflated when his mother arrived home._

_Rinko stormed into the house at seven o' clock that evening like she had been in all-day a conference with the devil himself. She threw her purse to the floor, hurled her keys at the wall, and began her tirade. "We lost _another_ client today," she yelled, face alight with fury, "and do you know what those idiots are doing? They're trying to blame _me_ for everything! They say that our clients keep leaving because of my poor abilities! Those jerks just don't want to admit that it's _their_ fault for insulting the clients!"_

_It was at this point that Ryoma walked down the stairs into the room, smirk still upon his face. Rinko glared at him and demanded, "What are you so proud of, young man?"_

_Her son's smirk became a hint of a smile, and he happily told her, "I scored a game off of The old man in our match today."_

_Whatever form of pride in her son Ryoma was expecting never came. Instead, his mother positively growled at him, her glare increasing. "I don't care if you score a _hundred_ games from Nanjirou! Compared to him, you'll always be not good enough_)_!"_

_Rinko stormed away, and Ryoma's smile disappeared._

* * *

Nanjirou entered his son's bedroom carrying a lunch tray, eyes tired from a long, sleepless night, only to be greeted by a furiously meowing Karupin and an empty bed. The covers were neatly folded, and on top of the pillow was a piece of paper. His heart clenched as if under the pressure of a vice, and he read.

_Echizen-sama,_

_ I'm sorry for having caused you so much trouble. I truly respect you with all my heart,_

_ and it is for this reason that I have decided to leave. Please go to Echizen-san and be_

_with her. You never need to think of me again. Thank you for teaching me tennis, giving me a good home, and allowing me to use your name. I'm sorry that I was unable to live up to your expectations._

_ -Echizen Ryoma_

Nanjirou fell to his knees, and his heart broke.

* * *

. . . Three for a girl . . .

* * *

_On Ryoma's fourteenth birthday, Nanjirou had taken his son to meet one of his friends from his professional days. He was treated to a rare gift, a tennis match between Samurai Echizen and an equally talented player. He had watched his father's professional tennis matches many times over, but he had to admit that there was a certain thrill in seeing something firsthand that can't be found in replaying a videotape. The two returned home that evening after eating dinner at the only Japanese restaurant for miles around._

_Once Nanjirou retired for the night, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, Rinko presented her gift to Ryoma. "I hope you're happy," she told him, "because your father chose to spend the day with you today and left me to find you a present for tomorrow. (1) Don't expect much, because you're spoiled enough without my help."_

_The next morning, Ryoma received a framed picture of the Seishun Junior High tennis club. Tucked between the photograph and the inside of the frame was a short note in tidy English._

They must not know how ungrateful you are.

* * *

Kaidoh Kaoru and Momoshiro Takeshi walked together to Ryuuzaki-sensei's office. With Ryoma's return to Seigaku, their coach had transferred from Seishun Jr. High to Seishun High School, and the two now argued back and forth about what they possibly could have done to get on her bad side that would be worth calling them out of class. They would have continued their fight until they reached their destination had they not been interrupted by the appearance of Oishi Syuichirou and Kikumaru Eiji.

"Nya! Hey, Oishi," the catlike player called, "it's Momo-chan and Kaidoh-kun! Do you think Ryuuzaki-sensei called for them, too?"

The mother hen of Seigaku rubbed the back of his head in response. "Yeah," he said. "She probably wants to speak to all of the regulars about something."

Eiji pumped his fists, ever the eager one. "Hoi, hoi! I wonder if it's about a new competition!"

"Hmm, I doubt it. If it was, she would have just told us during practice, as always."

The acrobat shrieked and jumped over a foot off of the ground, startled by the new voice. "Hey, Fujiko," he said, frowning at the smiling face, "don't sneak up on me like that!"

Fuji Syuusuke, the mysterious, sadistic tensai, joined the group along with Tezuka Kunimitsu, the tennis club captain. Not far behind them were the final two senpai, Kawamura Takashi and Inui Sadaharu. "Decided to return to the tennis club, Taka-san?" Fuji asked.

Kawamura smiled bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I'm still focusing on the family business. I'm not sure why Ryuuzaki-sensei asked for me."

The stoic captain moved them along, reprimanding them for loitering in the halls. "Let's go," he said. "Ryuuzaki-sensei is waiting for us."

None of them were prepared for what awaited them inside the office.

A monk dressed in black whom the tennis team recognized as Echizen Nanjirou was pacing restlessly across the floor. Ryuuzaki Sumire sat behind her desk, her face wrinkled in worry. As the regulars entered the room, Nanjirou paused in his pacing and looked up. "Finally! Can we please go now?"

Eiji, ever the curious one, inquired about his words. "Go? Where are we going, sensei?"

Ryuuzaki gave her students a serious stare before releasing a long, suffering sigh. "Ryoma ran away this morning. We need your help in looking for him."

The room elapsed into silence before exploding with noise. Each of the boys attempted to speak at once.

"UNYA? Ochibi's gone?"

"Echizen's missing? But it's dangerous to be on your own in the city! He could get hurt!"

"What? But he seemed fine when I saw him last night..."

"Why would Echizen run away?"

"Fshuu!"

"Hmm, this is troubling..."

"What could Echizen be thinking?"

"There is no data indicating what could have caused this turn in events."

"ENOUGH!"

At their coach's shout, all eight of them quieted. Ryuuzaki stood, walked around her desk, and turned to each of her students. Every face was fixed with fear for their kouhai, their friend, their Ochibi. "That's not important at the moment," she began. When she saw that the boys were about to speak once more, she continued. "What _is_ important is finding Ryoma before something happens to him. Inui," she turned to the data tennis player, "do you know of any places he might go?"

Inui hastily adjusted his glasses and pulled out his infamous green notebook. He flipped through the pages, barely giving any of them a second glance, before coming to a halt near the middle of the book. "There is a ten percent chance that Echizen will have already left town. Forty-eight percent chance that he will have first visited the street courts, thirty-two percent chance that he will have visited Kato-san's tennis club, twenty-seven percent he will have stopped at the burger place, twenty-two percent the sports shop, fifteen percent the pet store, and thirteen percent the footbridge. Sixty-three percent chance that he will have left something for us at Kawamura Sushi. However, the data is inconclusive because motivation for leaving is unknown."

The woman nodded at this information, glad to at least have a few leads to the whereabouts of her star rookie. "Good. We'll split up; you all have been excused from classes for the rest of the day. Tezuka, Fuji, you two check the street courts. Kikumaru, Oishi, check the tennis club. Inui, Kaidoh, take the sports shop. Momoshiro, Kawamura, the burger place. Nanjirou and I will go ahead to Kawamura Sushi; everyone meet us there when you're finished regardless of whether or not you've found him yet."

"Right!"

Not a single face was smiling as they began their search, and Fuji's electric blue eyes were wide open.

* * *

. . . Four for a boy . . .

* * *

_One evening, Ryoma and Rinko were sitting at the dinner table. Nanjirou had been dragged to a bar by one of his friends and gotten himself completely smashed earlier that afternoon, and he was currently passed out in his and his wife's bedroom. They ate in relative silence, each one keeping to him or herself. The boy was afraid to say anything that might anger his mother, for she had been exceptionally tense and easily frustrated with him for several weeks._

_Finally, when he could no longer stand the stifling quiet, Ryoma spoke. "Western food again? Why don't we ever have Eastern?"_

_Before he could move, the table had been upended. His mother stood fuming over him. Slowly, deliberately, she strode to his side and bent down to his level where he lay on the floor, covered in food. "If you don't like the food that I cook," she yelled, not moving an inch to help her son, "then don't eat here! I don't ever want to hear you complain again, you ungrateful little brat! You're worthless, and you don't deserve everything we graciously give you! I wish you were never born, you little shit!" With no more words, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room._

* * *

Nanjirou raced into Kawamura Sushi like a bat out of hell, Ryuuzaki hot on his heels. He rushed the bar, shoving away anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path, and practically jumped over the counter to reach the poor, startled man behind it. "Tell me," he asked, a frantic expression on his face, "did a boy come in here at all today? He has green hair, gold eyes, usually wears a Fila cap, and may have left something for the Seigaku tennis regulars."

Raising his hands to placate the worried father, the bartender calmly answered him. "Yeah, a kid left a package for Seigaku a little bit ago." He reached under the counter and pulled out a box from a local clothing store, gesturing to the red-haired woman. "You're Ryuuzaki-sensei, the coach, right?" She quickly nodded her confirmation, and she wasted no time in opening the box when the man handed it to her. As she gazed at its contents, however, she was forced to pause and stare in shock.

Inside, neatly folded, was Ryoma's regular jacket. Nanjirou joined his former coach, stunned, as she lifted the blue and white jacket from the box. "Nanjirou," she said, "Ryoma... He would never quit tennis..."

The monk said nothing. There was nothing that he _could_ say. After all, what is there to say when a man's only son runs away from home, leaving behind everything important to him? Gently, he took the jacket from Ryuuzaki and held it up in all its glory.

Despite all the times his son had worn it, he himself had never seen it on Ryoma. The closest he had ever come was glancing at the framed picture of the Seigaku tennis club which, having once stood in a place of pride on Ryoma's bedside table, now lie inside of the box in Ryuuzaki's hands. He had never attended any of the boy's practices or matches, not wanting to steal the attention away from the court because some nosy reporter recognized him. Now, he truly regretted this with all of his heart as he brought the jacket to his chest in a tight hug.

He was brought out of his reverie, however, by the older woman's exclamation. Tucked underneath the precious picture fame, barely visible, was a small, neatly folded piece of paper. Hands shaking, Nanjirou lain down the jacket, picked up the note, and read.

* * *

. . . Five for silver . . .

* * *

_Ryoma lie in bed, pillow held firmly over his ears, trying to block out the sounds of his parents' fighting. When he had returned from tennis practice that afternoon, his mother had been waiting for him, a look of fury upon her face. Without a word, she had slapped him, well-manicured fingernails raking across his face and leaving long, thin cuts. "You _idiot_," she had screamed. "Don't you know _any_thing?"_

_Ryoma had looked up at her with hurt golden eyes, confused. "I don't understand," he had said. "What did I do?"_

_He had been answered with another harsh slap to the face. "Don't pretend you don't know!" She had balled both of her hands into fists, barely controlling her anger. "Your teacher called home today," she had said in a forced calmness. "You failed your history test, Ryoma."_

_The boy had turned his gaze to the floor, shame evident upon his face. "I'm sorry," he had whispered. "I really did try! I studied all week!"_

_His protests had been cut off abruptly by his mother's voice and a fist in his stomach. "Liar!" She had begun to hit him continually, kicking him when he fell to the floor. "Do! Not! Lie! To! Me!" she had yelled, accentuating each word with a sharp kick to the chest. Ryoma had curled into a fetal position, vainly attempting to protect himself as his mother continued her onslaught, striking out at any part of him she could reach. Then, suddenly, without any warning, it had stopped. Slowly, cautiously, Ryoma had unfolded himself to see his father holding Rinko tightly._

"_What," he had asked, his voice shaking with barely concealed rage, "are you doing?"_

_The woman had tugged at her arm, trying to free herself from her husband's grip, casually saying, "Teaching our son a lesson."_

_Nanjirou had then narrowed his eyes at his wife, sharply pulling her towards their bedroom, growling, "We need to talk."_

_It was now two hours later. Ryoma had dragged himself up the stairs and to his bedroom after cleaning his wounds, collapsing on his bed. His parents had been yelling at each other constantly, and although their words were muffled by the walls, he knew exactly what they were arguing about._

This is all my fault,_ he thought. _All my fault...

* * *

Half an hour passed before the eight boys entered Kawamura Sushi, all looking sufficiently worried. They sat around a large table, a platter of sushi lain out in front of them. No one moved to touch it, not even Momoshiro. Nanjirou was ignoring everyone and everything around him, having grown more and more depressed each time a pair walked in empty-handed. He held Ryoma's jacket to his chest, clinging to it like a lifeline, looking for all the world as if he would like nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth. None of the regulars had the heart to disturb him in order to ask him where the jacket had come from.

Finally, after several minutes of tense silence while each person was sipping at some tea, Ryuuzaki spoke. "All right," she said, "none of you found him. Did anyone learn anything, though?"

Tezuka, ever the cool, calm, and collected captain, began. "Fuji and I found nothing at the street courts. However, we did run into a man who said he had seen a boy matching Echizen's description." At these words the entire table seemed to become brighter, but it once again dimmed as Tezuka finished. "He said that he was standing on the other side of the fence during one of his games, watching him play. He appeared to be sad, he said, and did not have a racquet with him."

"Kato-san said that he passed by the tennis club earlier," Oishi informed. He looked troubled, and Kikumaru continued for him.

"He said that he called out to him, but he kept walking as if he didn't hear him, nya." The carrot top was decidedly downcast, and his trademark "nya" held no enthusiasm. He took Oishi's hand in his, both seeking comfort from the boy and giving some to him in return.

"There was no sign of him in the sports shop," Inui informed. Kaidoh hissed in worried agreement.

"Nothing at the burger place, either," Momoshiro said. "He hasn't been seen in that part of town all day."

Kawamura asked the question to which the answer they were all eager to hear. "Did Echizen leave anything for us here?"

Ryuuzaki heaved a sigh, her gaze lowered. "Yeah," she said, nodding. "He left his jacket, as you can see," she gestured to Nanjirou, "and this picture."

The woman placed the photograph at which she had been staring sadly until the others had arrived in the middle of the table, and it was slowly passed around to each of the boys. They each looked fondly at it, and Kikumaru burst into tears when it reached him.

Fuji held it, gently tracing Ryoma's annoyed features. He could remember that day clearly. At the end of practice, Ryoma had announced his return to America for the US Open. Ever the photographer, Fuji himself had suggested they take a picture so that he would have something by which to remember the other regulars. The boy had been adamant about not having his picture taken, and Momoshiro had needed to hold him in a headlock for him to stay still long enough for Ryuuzaki-sensei to take the picture. Fuji wished he could have done it himself, but he had felt that he needed to be in front of the camera instead of behind it this one time before Ryoma left.

Looking up at his coach, he asked, "Is this it?"

Hesitantly, she shook her head and pulled a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket. "It's addressed to all of you," she said, and as she handed it to Tezuka, Fuji realized that she had never looked her age more than she did at that moment. The captain opened the note, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"_Senpai-tachi,_

_ By the time you read this letter I will be long gone. I do not plan to ever return. As such, I_

_ feel that I must give to you my final words._

_ Kawamura-senpai, I apologize for taking advantage of you while running laps._

_ Oishi-fukubuchou, I'm sorry for worrying you all the time._

_ Kikumaru-senpai, I'm sorry that I was always rude to you when you have been nothing_

_ but kind to me._

_ Inui-senpai, thank you for your help in improving my tennis. Regretfully, your work was_

_ all for naught._

_ Momoshiro-senpai, thank you for being my first real friend despite my arrogance and_

_ attitude._

_ Kaidoh-senpai, I ask you to please take care of Karupin for me. I know that you like him_

_ despite how you try to hide it._

_ Fuji-senpai, I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger._

_ Tezuka-buchou–_" Here, his voice faltered, although no one noticed."–_I'm sorry_

_ that I disappointed you. I cannot be Seigaku's pillar of support, for it seems that I am_

_ unable to support even myself._

_ Thank all of you for being kind to me and treating me like a good friend. I'm sorry that I_

_ let you all down._

_ -Echizen Ryoma_"

There was complete silence around the table once Tezuka finished reading. They all sat, listening to the conversations and clatter of dishes around them, wanting to think about anything but the depressing note. What he had written... No one wanted to believe what it implied.

"Ochibi–" Eiji's voice broke off, and he stopped to clear his throat. "Ochibi thinks he failed us?"

Stunned, confused, no one spoke. Slowly, their minds began to focus. Oishi was the next to break the quiet. "Echizen... How could we not have noticed? We're a terrible senpai-tachi! We're supposed to watch out for our kouhai!"

"Why would Echizen ever think that?" Momoshiro asked. "What did we do to make him feel that way?"

Inui crossed his arms, notebook nowhere in sight. "I have no idea. There is no data that suggests that any of this is possible." The others looked up, disconcerted. After all, if Inui didn't know what to do, who did?

Finally, Ryuuzaki stood. "That's enough," she said. "We need to stop dwelling on the past and think about the present. Now, there are still two places we haven't checked. Inui, Kawamura, and Kaidoh, you're coming to the pet shop with me." The three nodded determinedly.

"Oishi, you, Kikumaru, and Momoshiro stay here in case something turns up." Tearfully, Eiji nodded his assent, and Oishi continued to comfort him. Momoshiro gave a thumbs up.

"Tezuka, Fuji, you go with Nanjirou to the footbridge." Fuji once again became the avenging angel and acknowledged his and Tezuka's orders. "We'll meet back here in an hour. That should give us enough time to search the immediate area and follow up on any leads."

"Right!"

* * *

. . . Six for gold . . .

* * *

_Ryoma was in his room, packing all of his belongings. Or he was attempting to pack them, at least. Karupin was playing with everything he moved to place in a box or suitcase, doing his very best to gain his owner's attention. Ryoma sighed. "Karupin," he said, dislodging the cat's claws from one of his shirts, "I'll play with you later. I really need to finish this!" Karupin looked up at him, his tail swaying from side to side, and meowed._

"_Nya!"_

"_You still haven't finished yet?" Ryoma spun around at the sharp voice, nearly dropping the Himalayan cat. Standing in his doorway, hands on her hips, was Echizen Rinko. "We're leaving for Japan tomorrow," she said. "Our family is once again being uprooted and moved to a different continent because of you! The least you could do is act like you actually want this! Or do you not want togo? Because if so, I'm sure your father would have no problem staying here!"_

"_No! I do want to go! I'm almost finished, Mom!"_

_Ever since the argument between his parents, Rinko had been violent to her son less and less, and never when Nanjirou was home. When she _did_ hit him, she was sure to do nothing extremely damaging or that would leave a visible mark. Despite this, Ryoma was unwilling to take any chance of upsetting his mother. The woman narrowed her eyes at her son. "Good," she said. "You had better be done when I come back, or else..."_

_The boy sighed as she walked out the door, relieved that he had dodged another bullet, one that could have been damaging to his plans of returning to Seigaku. He had been looking forward to moving back to the place he most considered home ever since his father had mentioned it to him two months ago, and he would be devastated if anything prevented the trip. Hurriedly, he continued to pack his remaining possessions._

_Karupin meowed and began to purr, winding through his master's legs, trying to give him the comfort that he so desperately needed._

* * *

Ryoma sat on the railing of the footbridge, legs dangling above the busy streets below. This had become his favorite spot in the entire city in the past two months, and he was extremely proud to be able say that even Inui did not know this. He loved to come up here and watch the people below, each person consumed in his or her own worries, and forget about his own problems, even if only for a moment. It was his sanctuary.

He allowed his legs to sway gently in the breeze, wondering when everything had become so complicated. He had been overjoyed when he had finally returned home to find that nothing had changed at Seigaku; Inui was still a data-freak, Tezuka was still strong and dependable, Oishi still worried over everything. Even though Kawamura was no longer in the tennis club, he still stopped by every now and then with freshly made sushi for them to taste test. It had seemed as if everything was supposed to be this way, as if he was meant to have one last, happy year with his senpai-tachi before the seniors graduated.

Apparently, though, it was not meant to last. He dreaded the return home from school every day, even going as far as staying awake in English class to make the hours stretch. He stayed out with Momoshiro as long as he felt was safe and refused his offers to ride him home. He had grown closer to the regulars in the last few months than he had ever thought was possible; they were his family.

So why was it all so wrong?

Ryoma sighed and stared up at the clear blue sky. He wished that he could be one of the white fluffy clouds, floating along without a care in the world. For the first time in a long while, the boy closed his eyes and allowed himself to fully relax. Nothing mattered anymore. His legs stopped swaying, his grip on the railing loosened, and he was suddenly falling freely through the air.

* * *

. . . Seven for a secret . . .

* * *

_The first day of practice after the regional tournament was tense. When Ryoma had met Momoshiro for their daily bike ride to school, his friend had sputtered in concern. "Echizen," he exclaimed. "What happened to your eye?"_

_Indeed, his right eye was blackened so that he resembled a panda bear. He had returned home a few minutes later than he should have the previous evening, and his mother had decided that his offense was punishable with a punch to the face. His father had been furious afterwards, and he had not let Ryoma out of his sight for the rest of the evening._

_To Momo, he said, "The stupid old man hit me with a tennis ball."_

_Momoshiro laughed the entire way to school._

_Ryoma was extremely annoyed with his friend, and he showed no sympathy when Inui administered his Penal Tea version 3.0 when he was the last to finish their afternoon laps._

_Unfortunately, his wound had caught the interest of Fuji even though Momoshiro had blurted the story of the tennis ball to the entire team. Much to the freshman's dismay, the two were paired together for a practice match, and as they were hitting a rally back and forth, Fuji casually asked, "Hey, Ryoma-chan, what happened to your eye?"_

_Careful to not falter in the rally, he answered just as casually, "Tennis ball."_

_The tensai's eyes opened for the briefest of moments, and he then replied, "Tennis ball, hmm?" Ryoma did not notice him share a concerned look with Tezuka._

_After practice Ryoma was the last to leave the club room. Momoshiro had turned down his offer of burgers, for he had scheduled a date with Tachibana Ann that afternoon. He took his time as he changed back into his school uniform. He was tying his shoes when Tezuka entered the room. "Buchou," he greeted, surprised; he had thought that everyone else had gone home already. Even the freshmen had finished picking up the balls from the courts. He looked around, noticing Fuji in the doorway. "Fuji-senpai."_

_The older boy continued smiling, saying, "You know, Ryoma-chan, you can call me Syuusuke. After all, we're friends, right?"_

"_Sure," he said, not really wanting to risk getting on the sadist's bad side. "Syuusuke-senpai." The words felt foreign yet comforting on his tongue._

"_Ryoma," Tezuka said, eyes never leaving his kouhai. The boy once again turned his attention to his captain in time to be handed a small jar of ointment. At Ryoma's questioning look, Tezuka continued. "For your bruise," he said. "Let me know the next time you're injured." Slowly, he nodded, and one crease disappeared from the bespectacled teen's brow._

_Together, the three walked out of the school grounds. As they reached the gate and Ryoma moved to return home, Fuji called out to him. "Hey, Ryoma-chan," he said, "would you care to get some ice cream with me and Mitsu-kun?"_

_Surprised at the offer as much as the nickname for the stoic captain, Ryoma nodded. "Sure, thanks, Syuusuke-senpai."_

"_No!" The tensai frowned. "Syuusuke-_kun_, or just Syuusuke. And call buchou Mitsu-kun, or just Kunimitsu!"_

_When Tezuka made no move to correct the effeminate boy, he hesitantly nodded. "Okay, Syuusuke, Kunimitsu. Thanks."_

_Fuji beamed, and Tezuka's lips curved upward ever so slightly._

* * *

Fuji's heart dropped into his stomach as he saw Ryoma let go of the railing. Without a thought he raced to the edge of the bridge, threw himself over the rail, and wrapped himself around the small boy in a tight hug as Tezuka stopped their decent with one hand on Fuji's jacket and the other on the rail. Nanjirou hurried to the three boys, and together he and Tezuka pulled them back onto the safety of the bridge.

Fuji let go of the boy as his father rushed forward and gathered him into a hug. He was beyond stunned by what had almost happened. Ryoma... proud, sweet, lovable little Ryoma... had nearly killed himself. He was their prince, their pride and joy, their baby boy that everyone wanted to protect. It was incomprehensible that something had broken him to such an extent without them knowing.

What had happened? How long had he been hurting? And then, Fuji remembered. He remembered the bruises, and he remembered his diminished attitude, and he remembered his shyness, and he realized. Oh, he realized.

The avenging angel's eyes opened, blazing in righteous fury. Echizen Rinko would pay. She would feel all of the hurt she had inflicted upon their Ryoma-chan a hundred fold. He was at the point of running off to find the woman, of hunting her down like and animal and giving her a slow, painfully drawn-out death when Tezuka placed his hand on his shoulder.

Fuji's eyes were drawn to the father and son collapsed on the ground, the man sick with sadness, the boy unresisting. He gazed into the haunted, deadened eyes of a boy who desperately needed him, whether he knew it or not, and the avenging angel disappeared. And Fuji locked eyes with Tezuka, and he knew. Before they could punish the woman, before they could seek revenge for the broken boy before them, they needed to help him.

Nanjirou held his son, his everything, afraid that he would disappear. "Why," he croaked, sobbing, "why did you do that?"

His answer was whispered, but they all heard it, and they all shivered. "So that you could be happy."

Nanjirou abruptly pulled away from the hug, looking into his son's expressive eyes. "But I'm already happy, Ryoma!"

"But," he said, confused, "you can't be with your wife anymore."

"She's not my wife," the man spat, anger dominant in his voice. "Not anymore, at least. She's not the woman she was when I married her."

Any doubts Tezuka and Fuji had about their kouhai's home life evaporated, and they both needed to restrain their emotions and refocus on the situation at hand.

"Don't you see," Nanjirou continued, "that _you_ make me happy?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as if afraid to raise his voice. "But... who would want a broken pillar?"

Tezuka gasped sharply. _This is _my_ fault,_ he thought.

Fuji, seeing his captain's indecisiveness, moved to console the younger boy. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Ryoma-chan," he said, "even a pillar can become overwhelmed. Too much pressure can cause one to crumble, but only if it does not have help."

Tezuka joined the trio, placing a hand on his other shoulder. "I apologize," he began, "if I placed too much pressure on you. Please, Ryoma," he said, allowing his eyes to portray his emotions, "let us be pillars for you. As you support Seigaku, allow us to support you. Everyone needs someone to depend on."

Ryoma looked at the three men around him, looking into each of their eyes. Fuji had them open for him, and he was able to lose himself in the clear blue pools full of affection and concern. Behind Tezuka's glasses the young man's eyes held more emotion than he had ever let show on his face. In his father's half-lidded eyes, eyes very much like his own, he saw a myriad of feelings–worry, sorrow, confusion, love, fear. Fear of losing him. Of losing _him_. He broke eye contact, looking at the pavement below them but not really seeing, heaved a heavy sigh, and nodded.

At that moment they all knew that they had a long, difficult journey together ahead of them, but they knew that at least they would be together.

And at that moment, that was all that mattered.

* * *

. . . Never to be told.

* * *

Translations:

_Nitoryu - _Two-sword style, switching between both hands when holding a tennis racquet

_sensei - _teacher/coach/doctor

_tensai_ - tennis genius

_Ochibi_ - kiddo/shorty, Kikumaru's nickname for Ryoma

_kouhai_ - underclassman/men

_-tachi_ - denotes a group of people

_fukubuchou_ - co-captain

_buchou_ - captain

* * *

AN: And thus it chapter two of If Wishes Were Horses. Fifteen full pages, nearly four times longer than chapter one.

So. Admit it. How many of you thought I had killed Ryoma? Kukuku... I can be so evil! But honestly, I would never kill Ryoma-sama. He's my favorite character! Of course, that also means that he's right in the line of fire for major torture...

I hope you've all enjoyed the story so far. Please review and let me know what you think.

-Sugarpony

Story Notes:

(1) Ryoma's birthday is December 24, Christmas Eve.

**Completed: 4/28/07**

**Edited: 6/19/07**

**Second Edit: 10/07/07**

**Third Edit: 2/09/08**

**Fourth Edit: 3/21/08**

**Fifth Edit: 3/25/08**

**Sixth Edit: 1/05/13**


	3. Ding, dong, bell

AN: Kyaa! I am majorly sorry about the huge wait for this chapter! I meant to write it as soon as I finished _Rehabilitation_, honest! But gee, it took me over a month to even _start_ it... Being bitten by a huge dog can really throw everything off-kilter.

I promise to try my best to keep updating regularly, even if I have to listen to Evanescence twenty-four / seven to get inspired. Their music is just... awesome. Totally perfect for this story, too. I could easily turn this into a songfic with just their stuff. Play it while you read and I can almost guarantee that you'll be crying if you weren't already- which, surprisingly enough, was an awful lot of you reviewers. Wow... I've never gotten such a huge response to a single chapter before this story. It makes me so happy that I'm making you so sad! ^_^

Anyway. This chapter was just a _pain_ to write. I wrote the first part in one go, then had writer's block for over a month. Then I wrote about half the chapter in one sitting, and then I had writer's block AGAIN. Honestly, I had no idea what to write! There were just so many things that I knew had to wait until chapter four... That's where I'm really going to pick up the pace a bit and shift forward the plot. But gee, it was like pulling teeth trying to come up with ideas for THIS chapter. Kyaa! It took me over TWO WEEKS to write this single chapter!

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's _Changechildren_.

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, OOC.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Three

* * *

_Ding, dong, bell,_

_Pussy's in the well._

_Who put her in?_

_Little Johnny Green._

_Who pulled her out?_

_Little Tommy Stout._

_What a naughty boy was that,_

_To try to drown poor pussy cat,_

_Who never did him any harm,_

_And killed the mice in his father's barn._

-"Ding, Dong, Bell," a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

_I'm so confused..._

_Why do they still want me? Why do they care? I'm nothing important, after all. If I was, then she wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't have said those things. She wouldn't have looked at me that way... like I was something from hell, something to be hated and controlled._

_I shouldn't even be here. I'm a monster. A thing to be feared and reviled. A horrible creature that brings nothing but chaos and destruction. She said so..._

_But he says no, I'm not. I'm special, important. I'm something to be loved and cherished. Something that brings peace and happiness in times of despair. But that can't be true... or else why would she hurt me?_

_If that was true, she wouldn't hate me. She's supposed to love me, but she doesn't. So there _must_ be something wrong with me, right?_

_Right?_

_I never should have been born. That's what she told me. He says she's wrong, and I want to believe him, but I can't. I just _can't_! _

_I try my best, but it's never good enough. I'm just not good enough. I always will be. I know I will be, because she told me so. And she's never lied. No matter how ugly the truth is, she always tells it. So I know it's true, because she said it._

He's_ lied. He lies all the time. About little, stupid things, mostly, but about big things, too, sometimes. Why should this be any different? _

_But what about senpai-tachi? Didn't they say the same as him? They called me precious... They've never lied to me before._

_People can change, though. I was in America for over two years. Who's to say that they wouldn't lie now? That they wouldn't lie to _me_? Fuji-sempai's a sadist, he likes causing other people pain. Couldn't he just be trying to trick me? Pretending to want me, only to throw me away later and delight in my agony?_

_But Tezuka-buchou... Tezuka-buchou's never lied about anything to anyone. He's too serious for that. He doesn't say a lot, but he means what he says. Maybe they were telling the truth..._

_But how could they be? I'm not special, I'm not precious. The only thing I'm good for is tennis, and I can't even do that right all the time. Could they... Could they have been lying just so I would play for them? So that they would have their rookie ace and go to Nationals again? Could they?_

_Would they? Would they really do such a thing? I want to believe in them, to believe in who they used to be._

_Kawamura-sempai, shy and kind yet brave and confident._

_Kaidoh-sempai, imposing but softhearted._

_Inui-sempai, terrifying but well-meaning._

_Momo-sempai, lighthearted and thickheaded._

_Kikumaru-sempai, energetic and over enthusiastic._

_Oishi-fukubuchou, mothering everyone he meets._

_Fuji-sempai, smiling and sadistic._

_Tezuka-buchou, strong and silent._

_Are they still how I remember them? Or am I just fooling myself, giving myself false hope? I want to believe... but I'm too afraid. Have they changed and I was just too preoccupied to not notice it until now, or have they only now realized how horrible I am? Or have they known all along and only pretended to care?_

_I'm so confused... I don't know what to think, what to believe... Who do I listen to?... What is the truth?... I want... I need... I need to..._

"_Aaaaargh_!"

* * *

Nanjiroh held his face in his hands and cringed as his son let out one anguished scream after another. He wanted to cry, but all of his tears had long since been used. At each terrifying sound he felt his chest tighten as his heart was slowly torn apart piece by piece. He wanted to help, to do _some_thing, but there was nothing he could do. So instead he simply sat, waiting for the moment he would be needed, when he would finally be able to aid the broken boy and begin to heal his wounded son.

The situation had appeared to be improving when he, Tezuka, and Fuji all held him on the bridge earlier that day, but some time during the trip home, Ryoma had once again fallen into an uncertain, self-loathing depression. He remained silent despite their attempts at cheering him and coaxing him to speak, and he had locked himself in his bedroom as soon as they all had arrived at the Echizen household.

Karupin, wounded and confused by his master's actions, scratched at the door, crying for Ryoma to allow him inside. In reality all three men sitting in the family room wanted nothing more than to do the same, but they knew that before they could begin to comfort him, Ryoma first needed to sort through his bewildered thoughts and emotions and decide what he was feeling.

Finally, when the tormented yells from above grew hoarse and, eventually, silent, Nanjiroh abruptly stood and turned toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea," he said, not facing the boys seated together on the sofa. "We'll talk when I get back."

As he busied himself with the kettle, Nanjiroh allowed his thoughts to drift to the young men in the next room. Once Ryoma's presence had vanished, the three tennis players had been left alone with one another. Nanjiroh had silently offered them a seat, and not a word had been uttered between them until a few moments ago. He knew, of course, who they were, from Ryoma's descriptions of the worthy opponents he had faced before they had left Japan after his first year at Seishun Jr. High.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, the former and current captain of Seigaku's tennis club, was one of the few who had defeated his son at the sport. Not long after Ryoma had entered Seishun, the stoic teen had challenged him to a matched and removed the cocky boy from his pedestal. He had inspired Ryoma to improve his tennis, not for the sake of beating his father, but for the sake of tennis alone. He was the one person that Ryoma respected more than anyone else. He had helped transform his son into a man.

Fuji Syuusuke, on the other hand, Seigaku's resident tensai, had never been able to finish a match with Ryoma. Despite this, however, Nanjiroh knew much about the teen from his son's irritated grumbling. Fuji was, he said, "a sadistic, bipolar, annoying freak." He projected a kind, innocent personality, but those who had ever crossed him could tell tales to make a frown man quiver with fear.

He had several quirks, such as a big brother complex, the ability to disarm a person and extract information without his knowing, and a strange liking of both wasabi and Inui Juice, what Nanjiroh knew as "the foulest, most inhuman form of torture ever created." Ryoma loathed and yet admired him at the same time. He kept a healthy dose of unpredictability in the boy's life.

From what he himself had observed of the two boys, however, Nanjiroh was able to garner the fact that the relationship between them and his son was more than one between teammates. No, they way they behaved was much more than that. Fuji's eyes had blazed in righteous fury at the sight of Ryoma being hurt, and he had not allowed the boy to wander from his gaze since then. Tezuka, ever the responsible captain, had reported to the others that Ryoma had been found and was fine for the time being and that they were to return to their classes immediately. He, meanwhile, had insisted on accompanying the father and son home, effectively skipping the rest of his classes, and had said nothing when Fuji also joined them.

When they had crossed paths with three of the others, the tensai had chased them away with his burning expression before they could close the distance between them. The two had worked in tandem, fiercely protecting Ryoma from becoming overwhelmed by their friends' reckless emotions. Ryoma looked up to and admired them, and they in return cared for him, sheltered him, and helped him to grow.

Nanjiroh was thankful beyond words that his son had two such caring, overprotective older brothers.

The tea kettle whistled, signaling that the water was boiling and shaking him from his musings. Nanjiroh turned off the heat and poured the water into three mugs of tea leaves, set the mugs on a tray, and headed once more into the sitting room to inform the young men of the recent family business.

Once Echizen Sr. had left the room, Fuji took the opportunity to share his thoughts with Tezuka. "Hey, Kunimitsu," he said, glancing up at the taller boy, "What do you think of all this?"

Tezuka did not move, choosing to remain in his position with his elbows leaning on his knees and his chin resting on his folded hands, the corners of his mouth turned downward in a scowl. He merely sighed and deepened his scowl, giving a thoughtful "Hmm." Fuji took this as a sign to speak his mind.

"Obviously, something is very wrong in the Echizen household. Nanjirou-san seems nice enough, and although Ryoma-chan never speaks highly of him, I doubt that he is the root of the trouble." No, Nanjiroh was far too distraught by the disappearance and subsequent attempted suicide of his son to have caused any trouble for him. Although earlier that day had been the first time he personally had met the man, he could see that he cared deeply for their Ryoma. "His wife, on the other hand, is dangerous."

Fuji's eyes snapped open as he glared at the coffee table, infuriated at even the thought of the woman. He had never encountered Echizen Rinko, and the only time Ryoma spoke of her was when he mentioned her hatred for Nanjirou's magazines. Despite this, he knew how to recognize the signs of an abusive mother. The scratch marks on Ryoma's face were much too thick to have come from his precious spotted Himalayan cat, and Fuji knew that Karupin loved Ryoma just as much as his owner doted upon him. The boy had not referred to her as his mother, instead falling upon last names and unnecessary honorifics. He had believed that his parents could not be happily married because of his mere existence. It was not difficult to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

His imaginings of Echizen Rinko being tortured to the point of insanity, however, were interrupted as Tezuka spoke. "The problem is," he said, straightening himself from his hunched position, "we have no idea how long this has been going on, or to what extent." It was true. They could tell that it had been taking place at least since the Echizens had returned to Japan, but there was no way of knowing when the trouble had first begun. Was it a recent development? Had it been happening in America, too? What if it had started before they had even left Japan, and they had never noticed? It was a highly disconcerting thought.

Their conversation was abruptly put on hold as Nanjirou entered the room, carrying a tray with three steaming mugs of tea. He set it gently on the coffee table, seated himself across from the boys, and took a long draft from his drink. He then looked into the eyes of the two young men and said, "I'm going to tell you everything."

* * *

Despite what many people believed, Tezuka Kunimitsu was not an emotionless beast. He was, however, a firm believer of the conviction that wearing one's heart on one's sleeve could very well end up getting one killed. As such, he sealed all of his feelings behind his stoic façade in order to avoid the threat of someone taking advantage of them. This was particularly important to him because of his status as a tennis player; tennis is a game that requires both physical and mental strength, and allowing one's opponent to see that one was becoming frustrated, confused, or exhausted could cost a person the match.

There were times, though, at which it was crucial to allow the mask to slide out of place in order to gain success, especially when they concerned matters of the human heart. This was one such time. Baring this in mind, Tezuka allowed his weariness and concern to be shown.

Tezuka could count on one hand the number of people outside of his family who were able to break past his cold exterior and see the man within it. The first was Oishi, his longtime best friend. Oishi had the uncanny ability to know what a person was feeling despite what he projected; perhaps this was a part of the reason the young man was always fretting about the well-being of others. He knew that even though Tezuka rarely let it show, he had a broad range of emotions, none of which he was the least bit ashamed. There were few things about which he was passionate, but those that did catch his attention could cause him to break character and his mask to fall for a slim period of time–and Oishi was always there to catch it.

Fuji, naturally, was the second person to know Tezuka for who he was. The tensai was gifted with keen powers of observation that rivaled Inui's, another who knew the real Tezuka. The difference between them, however, was the fact that while Inui was content to gain any data presented, if something caught Fuji's interest, he would latch onto it and never let go. He would dig deep beneath the surface to discover whatever he could, and he was unafraid to go to great extremes for this purpose. Fuji always got what he wanted.

The final one, interestingly enough, was Echizen Ryoma. The prodigy always had a distinct air of disinterest in anything unrelated to tennis, yet he was consistently able to distinguish what Tezuka was feeling at any given moment. He knew when he was irritated, he knew when he was pleasantly surprised, he knew when he was in pain, and he knew when he wanted nothing more than to choke the living daylights out of Inui and Fuji for conspiring against him around the other regulars, particularly Kikumaru and Momoshiro. And Tezuka had no idea of how he did it.

He had known from the very beginning that Ryoma was one of a kind, and he, like Fuji (though he was loathe to admit), had taken a shine to the boy. He was special in a way that he himself did not know but everyone who encountered him did immediately; he brought out the best in people. Whether he inspired them or prodded it out of them with his annoying frankness, those that he touched were changed forever.

There were, of course, exceptions to this, as there were with any given on the planet. After all, that was why he, Fuji, and Echizen Nanjirou were sharing tea in Ryoma's sitting room. Someone had taken advantage of Ryoma's candid nature and torn him apart piece by piece. In a strange, twisted way, it was a blessing, for it had caused Tezuka to realize just how much he had grown to care for the boy. In the same way, however, it was possibly the worst situation he could ever imagine, for in this revelation his heart was being thrown into the depths of despair the like of which he had never before known.

Someone had badly hurt their prince, and she was going to have felt the wrath of hell by the time he and Fuji were finished with her.

* * *

Nanjirou set his mug of tea on the small table between himself and the two boys as he broached his explanation. "Before I tell you anything important," he said, his usually laid-back expression transformed into one of utmost seriousness, "I'm going to make sure that you know exactly why I'm even telling you anything in the first place. From here on out, Ryoma's got a long, hard journey ahead of him, and he's going to need all the support he can get. As much as I would like to able to take care of him by myself, I know that I won't always be able to get through to him or even be with him at all. That's where you two come in.

"From what I can tell, you both are pretty dependable guys, and I've never heard Ryoma say a word against you, at least, Tezuka-kun. And despite all of his complaining, I know that he's fond of you, too, Fuji-kun; after all, it's the same way he complains about me." If Fuji was at all insulted at being compared to the former tennis professional, he hid it well. He and Tezuka remained where they were, drinking in the words that Ryoma cared for them as much as he did anyone. Nanjirou leveled a harsh stare at them before continuing.

"I can trust that you both know what tact is and how to use it, and that everything I'm telling you is to remain on a need-to-know basis with the rest of your friends. I'm putting my confidence in you in that I believe you will be discrete about volunteering this information but still giving them enough to understand the situation. But understand that if you _ever_ harm Ryoma in _any _way, I will hunt you down like dogs and make certain that you both are miserable for the rest of your pathetic lives. Got it?"

Tezuka and Fuji both solemnly nodded their assent and comprehension of his words, and Nanjirou visibly shifted from an overprotective father to a worried parent. He sat with his shoulders hunched, and he fiddled nervously with his hands. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and began his tale.

"As you've probably guessed by now, the situation with our family right now is rocky at best. You see, Rinko–Ryoma's mother–was always jealous of my relationship with Ryoma. Everything was fine, though, until we first came to Japan. She was okay with the change at first, after all, she _is_ half-Japanese, but then she started to get easily irritated and–homesick, I guess. And when she was finally settled in with our life here, we moved back to America."

Nanjirou carded a hand through his messy hair. "I don't know exactly when it started," he sighed, "but I noticed that something was... off... with Ryoma. He didn't make his snarky comments as often, he never came home late, and he minded his manners like–like–like some old-fashioned high-society-raised twit!" Tezuka rose an eyebrow at the description, and Fuji chuckled despite himself. "Anyway," Nanjirou continued, "something was obviously wrong.

"And then one day..." He licked his lips, his nostrils flared, and his eyes burned with a barely contained rage. "One day I walked in on Rinko knocking the stuffing out of Ryoma." Fuji visibly seethed where he was seated, and the aura dark projected by Tezuka was enough to make Nanjirou shudder in fear. Not a single one of them was at all happy. "I dragged her away from him and into our bedroom, where she had a mental and emotional breakdown and promised to never do it again. I told her that I would give her a chance, but if it happened again, she'd be facing a divorce and charges of child abuse.

"I kept a close eye on her, and I never caught her doing anything to Ryoma until a few months back; you'll recall it as when he went to school with a black eye after the regional selections. Unfortunately, I didn't know what had happened until after the fact, so Rinko passed it off as an accident, and Ryoma didn't say anything against her." The monk heaved a sigh once again, and a great sadness passed over his face. "I should have know better, but I guess I just didn't want to own up to reality.

"Last night, I came inside after ringing the temple bell, and I'm pretty sure that she was trying to kill him." He lapsed into a pensive silence, and the room was filled with a dense killing intent rippling off of the three tennis players gathered. After several moments Nanjirou finished his story. "I pulled her off of him, kicked her out of the house, and cleaned up Ryoma as best as I could. This morning I called the school to let him know he would be absent, checked up on him, and let him sleep. When I went to wake him for lunch, he was gone."

At last they all knew of the long, horrible history of Ryoma's abuse. And none of them were pleased.

"I suppose the only question left to ask," Tezuka concluded, "is what happens now?"

"Well," Fuji said, "there's really no way to tell. All we can do is try to fix the damage caused by that... that _woman_."

"But if we overwhelm him all at once," Nanjirou commented, "we we may only cause more damage." He frowned and folded his arms across his chest, mimicking Tezuka's pose. "We have to take this one step at a time. _I'll_ handle everything with Rinko, so I don't want you kids to worry about her, _understand_?"

Obviously he had heard of Fuji's infamous appetite for vengeance, for he was taking no unnecessary risks. Reluctantly, both boys nodded their assent, though Fuji more likely than not would still take some action against the woman. Nanjirou relaxed a fraction and continued.

"Don't treat Ryoma any differently than usual. If you act as though he's fragile and going to break, you're just going to push him away. I just want you guys to make sure that you're there for him and giving support to him when he needs it. Got it?"

The two students nodded once more. "I'll make certain that the others treat him the same," Tezuka assured. He then narrowed his eyes and fixed the man before him with a searching stare. "What I would like to know," he said, "is how you know what to do in this situation?"

Nanjirou uncrossed his arms and finished the rest of his tea in one gulp. "It's kind of a long story," he answered, "but here's the short version. I've actually been through this before - don't look at me like that, shorty, that's not what I meant! When I was Ryoma's age one of my friends had the same thing happen to him. I learned this all from trial and error, but let me tell you, it's a heck of a lot harder to cope when it's your own kid going through it–not that either of you would know." He sighed once more, rested his elbows on his knees, and pulled at his hair with both of his hands. "_Why_ didn't I see this coming?"

Fuji allowed his eyes to close lazily, and a wistful smile melted onto his face. "We all are blind fools when it comes to those we care about," he said sadly. "The only thing we can ever do is correct our mistakes as quickly and efficiently as possible."

The older man slowly straightened and relaxed into his seat, leaning against the soft cushions. He smirked slightly and chuckled wryly as he withdrew a cigarette from the folds of his robes and lit it, deeply inhaling the sweet tobacco. "There is that," he said, resting his eyes as smoke began to curl around him. "There is that."

* * *

"_Kikumaru_!"

"_Unyaa_!"

Kikumaru Eiji jumped out of his chair with a clatter, bumping into the desk and nearly knocking it over. He hastily grabbed his falling textbook and notes as the other students tittered with laughter. Once he had collected his items, Eiji straightened and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. His teacher, Iruka-sensei, was tapping his foot impatiently, arms crossed in front of him. "Ahaha," Eiji chuckled nervously. "Sorry, sensei. What was the question again?"

Iruka sighed, resigned to the fact that the boy would not be participating in his lesson. "That's the third time I've caught you staring out the window, Kikumaru. At least _pretend _to pay attention, will you?"

Eiji blushed and nodded. "Yes, sensei." He bowed before returning to his seat. As Iruka continued his lesson (after giving his student a reproachful stare), Eiji sighed and propped his head in his hand, laying his other arm across the desk. He sincerely did try to listen to his teacher's lecture on Japanese History, but it was not long before his eyes drifted once more to the growing storm outside.

It had begun to rain just as he, Oishi, and Momoshiro had returned to the school in time for the day's final lesson. Eiji and Momo had wanted to simply skip class and go straight to the clubroom where, hopefully, they would learn what had become of Ryoma. Unfortunately, Oishi had insisted that they attend and had even gone as far as escorting him and Momo to their classrooms to make certain that they did not play hooky. That did not, however, ensure that their _attention_ would be inside the classroom.

_Why_, Eiji wondered, _does it always rain when something bad happens?_ By all means he should have been relieved that Ryoma had been found before he ended up in trouble, but what he had seen of him was not at all reassuring. _What happened to Ochibi? Why was he so banged up? Was he being bullied? Did he get kidnapped?_ Eiji shook his head, trying to clear his mind of all his troubling thoughts. _I'm starting to act like Oishi. Everything's probably fine._

_But if everything's fine, then why did Fujiko glare at me like that?_ The redhead pouted laid his head over his crossed arms on the desk. _I know Fujiko's _Fujiko_, but I haven't seen him that mad since Mizuki taught Yuuta-kun the Twist Spin Shot!_

It was true; when Eiji and the others had met Fuji's group and Ryoma, the combination of Eiji's distress and Ryoma's depressed appearance had caused him to immediately burst into tears and move to take the boy into an enormous bear hug. Before he could even near his kouhai, however, Fuji had released a miasma filled with enough killing intent to make Eiji wonder if the effeminate boy was part demon as he hurried away from the scene. He shuddered in remembrance. _Fujiko sure is scary sometimes..._

"_**Kikumaru**_!"

"_Unyaa_!"

The final bell rang twenty minutes later. Eiji grunted as his classmates filed past him, hefting the buckets of water dangling from his hands as he leaned against the wall. The fourth time he had been singled out by Iruka-sensei, the teacher had sent him into the hallway, seeing that he was not going to learn anything from his lecture. Once the other students had vacated the area, he was called back inside. Eiji walked through the door and set his burden on the nearest desk. He stretched his arms, rubbing the sore muscles, and then turned to his history teacher.

Iruka finished instructing the two students on cleanup duty before addressing the day's delinquent. "You're free to go," he said, but grabbed Eiji's shoulder before the boy could race out the door. "I'm not giving you detention," he continued, "but I do want you to listen in class from now on. Understood?" Eiji nodded vehemently and made to leave, but Iruka held tight. "One more thing before you go," he said. "There's no homework, but Ryuuzaki-sensei called to let you know that the tennis club is canceled for this afternoon because of the rain. The regulars will meet in the club room before practice tomorrow morning."

Eiji visibly deflated, but all the same he nodded, bowed to Iruka, and started towards his shoe locker to make his way home. _Man,_ he thought, pouting as he shoved his hands in his pockets, once more glancing out the window at the stormy sky, _today really can't get any worse._

* * *

Thunder crashed as lightning blazed through the sky, causing unearthly shadows to bounce back and fourth on the walls and floor. The noise of the storm masked the sounds of a door opening and closing and the soft patter of footsteps moving down the stairs and through the hallway. Ryoma hesitated at the entrance to the sitting room, Karupin winding his way between his master's legs.

He lurked in the doorway, watching his father and two classmates drink tea and sit in silence, uncertain if he should enter and interrupt them. He haltingly moved forward before pausing mid-step, belatedly changing his decision; before he could shuffle out of view, Nanjirou caught sight of him and hastily stood, stamping out his cigarette on and ashtray on the coffee table. The man opened and closed his mouth several times, no sound emitting from it, before clearing his throat and speaking to his son.

"Ah, Ryoma," he said, voice tight, "Why don't you come in and sit down with us?"

Hesitantly, Ryoma muddled into the room and sat nervously in one of the chairs as his cat curled up on his lap. He teetered cautiously on the edge of the cushion, anxiously wondering what would happen next.

They all sat still, listening to the sounds of the storm, for a long time. Ryoma began to fidget, uncomfortable with the others' eyes on his form, staring at him for no reason in particular. No one spoke, and no one moved but to sip at his cooling tea. Finally, when he could no longer stand to be under the scrutiny of the others, Ryoma broke the dense silence. "I'll leave, if you want me to." His voice was rough from its earlier misuse, and his gaze was focused on his cat. "All you have to do is say so. I can still play tennis for Seigaku, I don't have to stay here if you don't want me."

The three in the room with him jerked where they sat, looking decidedly distressed and dismayed. Nanjirou heaved a weary sigh, an indescribable emotion in his countenance. "Of course I want you to stay," he said. "I told you this earlier. I don't care what your mother has said, you're my son and you belong here.

"Rinko, on the other hand..." He sighed again, bringing a hand to his head to pull gently at the short tufts of hair. He closed his eyes in thought as he rubbed at his scalp, apparently trying to decide to best way to word what he wanted to say. When he reopened them, they were blazing with determination. "Rinko is no longer going to be a part of this family. It's going to be tough, but it's something that needs to be done." He paused and swallowed a lump in his throat, his face turning forlorn. "She betrayed both of us."

Ryoma frowned and petted Karupin, who began to purr in response. "I don't understand," he said, eyebrows furrowed. "She didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who–"

"Don't even finish that thought!" Ryoma flinched as Fuji slammed his empty mug on the coffee table, rising angrily, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You've done nothing wrong, Ryoma-chan! You are a strong, confident young man, and you are entitled to any mistakes you've made because you're still just a teenager! You could never pick up a racket again for the rest of your life, and we wouldn't even care; your tennis does not define you! Anything anyone else tells you is a bold-faced lie!"

Despite his teammate's–no, his _friend's_–rant, Ryoma kept his head bowed, and his face remained sorrowful. "But," he whispered, his voice shaking a bit, "but, if that's true, then why–" He swallowed a lump in his throat with some difficulty and continued. "Why would she... Why would Mom..." His face contorted and twisted, as if in pain, and his golden eyes glazed over. The others easily guessed what he was thinking, remembering.

Again, Nanjirou sighed. Undoubtedly, there would be much of the same in the long journey ahead of them. "How to put this..." He trailed off, apparently searching for the best way to explain the situation. "Rinko," he started, choosing his words carefully, "is not angry at you."

Ryoma was confused. If she wasn't angry at him, then why did she say and do all of those things to him? He opened his mouth to ask as much, but his father held up a hand to still his question.

"Rinko," he continued, "is angry at her situation. She is a middle-aged woman working a job that brings a steady income but is highly stressful and not at all enjoyable for her while also being married to a man who pays more attention to their son than to her, mostly because she is rarely home to see her husband. She feels the need to blame something or someone or else go insane, and who better than the son who she thinks is stealing the affection of her husband from her? Which, by the way, is not the least bit true, but that's what her state of mind has led her to believe."

Ryoma simply sat where he was, stroking his cat for comfort, staring openmouthed at his father for a long time after he finished speaking. Never in his entire life had he witnessed him being as serious as he was at that moment, and it was both surprising and more than a little unnerving. Was this what it was like for the Samurai's opponents when they first witnessed his incredible abilities in tennis? Ryoma was cowed.

He realized, too, that despite his father's unusual attitude, what he had said made a lot of sense–not to mention the fact that it eased his mind much more by believing this explanation. Even knowing this, however, it was difficult to accept that his mother would hurt him simply because she was looking for someone to blame for her troubles.

Finally, though, he licked his lips, swallowed, tilted his head downward and fixed his gaze to the floor, and said, "I–I think I get it... So... so I didn't do anything wrong?" He looked hesitantly at his father, and he looked back straight into his eyes.

"No," he said, "_absolutely nothing_."

"And you won't be burdened if I stay with you?"

"Never!"

Ryoma reached up to pull his hat over his face, but upon grasping nothing but thin air, he realized that he was not wearing anything on his head. Instead, he dipped his chin and stared at his cat, scratching behind Karupin's ears as tears began to form, unbidden, in his eyes. He stilled and stiffened as he felt arms around him, but he slowly relaxed and leaned into his father's firm, loving embrace.

Eventually, Nanjirou withdrew from his son, and Ryoma sat up straight and discreetly wiped his face, gently rubbing his red, puffy eyes. He suddenly realized that Tezuka and Fuji were still seated on the sofa next to him and had witnessed the moment with his father, and he felt his face flush as he turned away from them. Fuji chuckled at this, and Ryoma heated up even more.

"You know, Ryoma-chan," the ever-smiling tensai said, "it's no disgrace to show your emotions, especially when you're among friends."

Blushingly, Ryoma said, "Okay, Fuji-senpai."

Fuji frowned. "Hey," he complained, pouting, "are we back to this again? It's Syuusuke!"

"Ah, right," Ryoma replied, pleasantly surprised, sparing his friend a small, shy smile. "Syuusuke."

"Ryoma-kun." The younger boy turned to the source of the deep, steady voice. His golden eyes met warm brown, and Tezuka continued. "We, your teammates, are more than just tennis opponents. We are your senpai-tachi, and we are your friends. You can always come to us if you are in need of advice or assistance." He fixed his kouhai with a steady, solemn gaze. "Please let us know if you are in trouble or have any problems."

Ryoma blinked, once more pleasantly surprised. "Okay, buchou," he said.

Tezuka's expression softened, and he smiled ever so slightly. "Call me Kunimitsu," he offered.

Ryoma softly smiled in return. "Okay, Kunimitsu."

A crash of thunder suddenly shook the house, and a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, shaking the four tennis players out of their reverie. Nanjirou jumped slightly and looked at his watch, checking the time. "Well," he said, looking at the two third-years, "it's about the time that you'd be getting home from school. I'll show you where the phone is, and you can call your parents to tell them that you'll be staying here until this storm is over." He stood from his chair, gathered the tea mugs and placed them on the tray, and left the room, the seniors in tow.

Thirty minutes later they all were gathered around the coffee table once more, eating a reheated dinner as the storm raged outside. Karupin wound his way around each of their legs, purring and begging for table scraps. Ryoma sat quietly, nibbling at his food, before placing his chopsticks on his plate. "So," he asked cautiously, "what happens now?"

Nanjirou finished his dinner, set down his own chopsticks, and crossed his arms pensively. "Well," he began, "first of all, I'm going to divorce Rinko. And second, I'm going to bring up charges on her for child abuse."

Ryoma looked up, alarmed. "No," he protested. "There's no need to do that! We can just leave Mom alone, can't we?"

Tezuka frowned. "Ryoma-kun, what your mother did was very wrong and highly illegal. This needs to be taken care of before it has the chance to go any further."

Still, the golden-eyed boy protested. "But if Dad's going to divorce her, then there won't _be_ any chance for it go any further."

Tezuka opened his mouth to insist, but Nanjirou sighed and cut him off, recognizing his son's stubborn, immovable personality rising to the surface once more. "All right," he acquiesced, "but _only_ if I'm able to get full custody of you. Anything less and I'm bringing it up to keep her away from you, understand?"

Ryoma nodded his consent, realizing that this was the best offer he was going to get; after all, his stubbornness had originally come from his father. "Okay, Dad." At his reply, however, Nanjirou frowned.

"Hey," he said, pouting as Fuji had done earlier. "What's with this 'Dad' junk, kid? I thought I was just your stupid old man!"

His son said nothing at first; he simply stared at him, surprised. Then, slowly, he smirked and chuckled. "You're right," he said. "After all, why would I respect a lazy, perverted monk like you?"

"Ah, youth." Nanjirou shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. "You are so uncute."

Fuji laughed.

* * *

By the time the storm had subsided, it was completely dark. Nanjirou had offered to put up Tezuka and Fuji for the night, but they both had refused and called home for a ride instead. The two were waiting outside the temple grounds together, having already bid a goodbye to Ryoma and his father. Tezuka turned to his friend, a question burning inside of him.

"Syuusuke, there's something that's been bothering me," he said, frowning a bit. "Why didn't you insist that Ryoma-kun's mother be brought up on charges? I would have thought that you would want nothing less."

Fuji quirked his head to the side, tilting it as if considering Tezuka's query. "Well," he began, "if it eased Ryoma-chan's mind, I think that it was worth it." He paused for a moment before continuing.

"And besides," he said, "that woman is going to suffer either way. I'll make certain of that." Sharp, electric blue eyes flashed dangerously, and as Fuji's sister Yumiko pulled up beside them and he climbed inside the car, Tezuka had no doubt that his statement would bring a disastrous fate to Echizen Rinko.

_No,_ Tezuka thought as his mother drove him home several minutes later, _I do not envy her at all._

* * *

Ryoma sat on his bed, completely drained from the day's events. Things were happening extremely quickly, and it was very difficult to keep up with them. He still had his doubts about who to believe, his mother or the others, but for now at least he would trust his father and his senpai-tachi–his friends. After all, hadn't they gone after him that afternoon? If they didn't care about him, they wouldn't be taking the time to make sure that he wasn't depressed. They had even been encouraging his rudeness and cockiness!

_Of course, it could all be a trap... Fuji-senpai is cunning enough and sadistic enough to put something like that together. As buchou says, let's not get careless._

For now, though, he would take what they say to be true. For now, he would trust them.

Ryoma sighed as he curled up under his blankets and switched off his lights, Karupin jumping on the bed and cuddling with him. He and his father had already discussed his return to school, and while Nanjirou was willing to allow his son to stay at home for as long as he needed, Ryoma felt the need to return to his daily routine. The monotony of classes would calm his nerves and give him something other than his family situation on which to focus.

Despite this, he was also dreading resuming his position in the tennis club. Although the season had already ended (it was, after all, nearly November) and only the most dedicated (or stubborn, depending on the person) of students were now participating in club activities, the regulars were still required to gather for morning practice three times a week. And while Ryoma was able to lose himself in tennis more completely than anything else, he was not at all looking forward to meeting with the rest of his senpai-tachi; they would no doubt have many questions for him that he did not want to answer. Hopefully buchou and Fuji-sempai would be able to protect him from their interrogation, or at the very least help him explain things to them.

Ryoma sighed once more and pushed these troubling thoughts to the back of his mind. He could worry about these things in the morning. Right now, he desperately needed to sleep.

* * *

AN: Voilà! Finally, chapter three is finished! Good grief, it took me over two weeks to write this thing! But I'm happy with it. Explanation scenes are a pain for me to write, but I think that it turned out nicely. I've been extremely busy as of late, and I will continue to be until the end of the month, but I promise that the next chapter will be up in less than six months this time!

I hope that it was well worth the wait. Thank you for reading! Please review and let me know what you think!

-Sugarpony

**Edited: 2/09/08**

**Second Edit: 3/25/08**

**Third Edit: 1/07/13**


	4. When the wind lies in the east

AN: Yatta! I _finally_ have cable internet, and I've spent the last few days watching episodes of Tenipuri online (since it was taken off television after **ten episodes**!), and I think I've definitely gotten a grasp on everyone's personality. It wasn't _nearly_ as easy to do with only the manga as a reference.

Mildly interesting yet totally useless fact about the title: No, I did not spend hours upon hours agonizingly searching through nursery rhymes to find something title-worthy, as I have with all chapters but the first. You know that saying "life's not fair" that all mothers seem irritatingly fond of? Well, my dad's a strong proponent of the "if wishes were horses, beggars would ride" party. Never _ever_ say anything that includes the words "I wish" around him.

**Ever**_**.**_

Oh, yeah! One last note! _Please_ don't get on my back about grammar. I _know_ how to use proper grammar; I aced every class on it that I ever took! **All grammatical errors are intentional for stylistic purposes.**

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's _Changechildren_.

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, OOC.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. Sugarpony also does not own the book Holes, which was written by Louis Sachaar. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Four

* * *

_When the wind lies in the east,_

_'Tis neither good for man nor beast;_

_When the wind lies in the north,_

_The skillful fisher goes not forth;_

_When the wind lies in the south,_

_It blows the bait in fishes' mouths;_

_When the wind lies in the west,_

_Then 'tis at the very best._

-"When the Wind Lies in the East," a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

Tezuka shifted slightly as he stood outside the school gates, waiting for his friend Fuji to arrive. The two had agreed the night before to meet there before the other regulars turned up for practice in order to speak with Ryuuzaki-sensei and figure out what exactly they were going to tell the rest of the team. They knew that it was highly unlikely that they would be able to escape from practice–or to even start practice, for that matter–without first explaining to them what had happened when they had found Ryoma the day before, especially since they had run into Oishi, Kikumaru, and Momo. And if Tezuka was to be perfectly honest with himself, he was dreading both the confrontation with his friends and their reactions to the situation at hand.

Inui, of course, most likely already knew. He and his data were nearly infallible, after all, and he had had plenty of opportunities to gather what he needed to draw the correct conclusion.

Oishi... might faint. He wasn't trying to sell his best friend short, so to speak, but really, the boy had a bad habit of jumping to conclusions and worrying over every little thing. Such big news might very well overload the mother hen's systems.

Kawamura's reaction truly depended on whether or not the boy was holding a tennis racquet. If he was not, he would probably be likely to faint as well; he was normally meek and nearly as sensitive as Oishi. If he _was_, however, holding his racquet, then he was more likely than not going to–as usual–fly off the handle and rant and rave about the unfairness and wrongness of it all.

Actually, Momoshiro was going to rant and rave about the wrongness of it all and the evils of Echizen Rinko whether or not Kawamura joined him.

Kikumaru would probably help Momo. God, _please_ don't let Kawamura be holding his racquet! He wouldn't be able to handle all three of them _and_ Fuji's vengeance!

Kaidoh... To be honest, Tezuka wasn't really sure what Kaidoh was going to do. Hiss, maybe? Whatever he did, he could only hope that he had enough sense to avoid an argument with Momo. There was going to be more than enough chaos without one of their infamous squabbles.

Tezuka closed his eyes, lifted his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose to dissipate the headache he could feels growing at the edges of his mind. Good grief, what a migraine he was going to have by the end of practice!

"Having a bad morning?"

Tezuka opened his eyes and peered through his glasses at his honey-haired friend. For all intents and purposes, he should have been happy to see him; he was after all, going to aid him in his strenuous task. Despite this, however, all he could feel was an impending sense of doom, for when he had been predicting his teammates' reactions, he had forgotten to keep in mind one very important detail: The Fuji FactorTM.

The Fuji FactorTM was actually an addendum to Murphy's Law. The Fuji FactorTM was simple: _Anything that can go wrong will go wrong at the worst possible moment because Fuji will make it so_. The Fuji FactorTM had a one hundred percent success rate. And The Fuji FactorTM was a living, breathing migraine.

"Something like that."

Fuji's smile widened. "So," he started as the pair began their trek through the school grounds, "what's our strategy for this morning?"

Tezuka spared the tensai a glance and raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You speak as if we're facing an opponent on the tennis court."

"Aren't we?"

The stoic teen felt an obligation to give credit where it was due; Fuji did have a point quite worthy of consideration. Professional tennis players, along with the many amateurs who were enamored with the sport, believed that tennis could be applied to every aspect of life. Any difficult situation was simply a talented opponent, and any difficulty was simply a challenging technique to overcome. Perhaps if he was to approach the upcoming discussion as a tennis match, then he would be less likely to obtain a migraine from the stress. Perhaps...

Out of the corner of his eye, Tezuka observed Fuji's smile, and he put an end to his current train of thought. He had once again conveniently forgotten to add in the The Fuji FactorTM. No, he was going to end his day with a migraine one way or another.

"Hmm." He chose to answer Fuji's question with a noncommittal response, although he probably had a good idea of what he was thinking anyway. Fuji was like that. "First things first," he said, replying to his first query. "We need to meet with Ryuuzaki-sensei and find out what she knows of the situation. Hopefully she'll be able to help us decide what we should and should not tell the others."

Fuji raised a hand to his chin and tapped a finger thoughtfully against the side of his face. "Well," he said, "I don't think we'll be able to escape without telling them mostly everything. Oh, we won't go into the nitty-gritty details, of course," he added as Tezuka frowned and turned to contradict him, "but we'll definitely need to let them know that Ryoma-chan's mother has been hitting him and then some."

Tezuka's frown did not leave his visage, but he was once again compelled to agree with his friend. He wasn't called a tensai for no reason, and his genius was not limited to the tennis courts.

The Seigaku regulars were a closely knit group, and if one was in trouble, then the others would do everything in their power to help him. They were their own little family, in a way; there was Mother Oishi, crazy Uncle Inui, and six brothers. And Tezuka himself would be the father, he supposed. Any way he looked at it, he knew that the others would not be satisfied unless they knew exactly what was going on with their precious Ochibi; but honestly, he couldn't blame him, for hadn't he and Fuji acted exactly the same way?

Tezuka put a halt on his musings for the time being, for he and Fuji had arrived at Ryuuzaki-sensei's office. His raised his fist and knocked on the door, and they were greeted with a weary "Come in."

The tennis coach's office was a small six foot by six foot room with one window, in front of which sat a wooden desk. Ryuuzaki was seated behind her desk, resting her elbows upon it tiredly. "Good morning, Tezuka, Fuji," she greeted them and gestured to two chairs across from her. "Please, have a seat."

Once everyone was reasonably comfortable, Ryuuzaki wasted no time in getting right down to business. "I spoke with Nanjirou over the phone last night, and he told me everything." The elderly woman had never looked more her age than she did at the moment, dark circles under her eyes and her brow furrowed in anxiety. She gently massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers as she continued.

"Echizen is returning to school today, although he may or may not be here for morning practice. We'll need to meet with the other regulars before he arrives, and we'll need to make sure that they don't scare him off when he _does_ get here."

Tezuka nodded in agreement and folded his arms across his chest. "The question is," he pointed out, "what do we tell them?"

Ryuuzaki sighed and folded her hands on her desk. Apparently, she had been agonizing over this as well. "We mustn't forget," she began, "that everything that has happened is a private affair, and it will turn into a scandal that reaches across the entire worldwide tennis community if the media gets even a whiff of this. Also, we all know that Echizen is a very private person, and with the state of mind he's in right now, it could quite possibly overwhelm him if all of a sudden the majority of his friends know about the more gruesome details of his home life."

A very good point. At the moment Ryoma's trust was minimal, and his self-confidence was nearly nonexistent. How would he react if everyone around him abruptly changed their attitudes toward him? They were trying to convince him that they were his friends and would not treat him any differently because of what... Tezuka could not bring himself to call her his mother... because of what _that woman_ said or believed about him. If the other regulars had an adverse reaction to the news, they might lose Ryoma for good.

"What I propose," his sensei continued, straightening and looking directly at her students for the first time that morning, "is that we just tell the others that Echizen's parents are divorcing and he's having a hard time with it. That way we can avoid most of the more–shall we say _extreme?–_reactions that we'd likely be forced to deal with if we tell the the whole story."

"Hmm." Avoiding the inevitable chaos for as long as possible was extremely appealing to Tezuka, and yet he knew that he and Ryuuzaki-sensei were both overlooking (purposely, actually) two very important facts. Fuji, of course, was the one to point them out.

"Well, it's a good plan in theory," he said, entering the conversation, "but I can't really see it working. For one thing, Oishi, Eiji, and Momo passed us on the way back to school yesterday, so they know that there is definitely something big going on; Ryoma-chan was in pretty rough shape when we found him. And for another thing, even if we had been able to avoid coming across anyone after we left the bridge, there's still the matter of that note that he left us to take into account. I highly doubt that there isn't a single one who hasn't come up with some sort of conspiracy theory by now." Fuji leaned back in his chair, seemingly amused by the thought.

Ryuuzaki sighed once more and slumped in her chair. "You're right, of course," she said, defeated. Resigned to their fate, she placed her hands on the desk and stood, moving toward the door. "We'll just have to tell them the basics–there's no need to go into great detail–and hope for the best."

Ten minutes later they and the rest of the regulars (sans Ryoma) were gathered in the tennis club locker room. The tension in the room was nearly palpable. The others had already changed into their tennis clothes and were either sitting on the the benches or leaning against the lockers. Oishi was pacing worriedly, and Kikumaru and Momoshiro were both unusually silent. Oishi stilled as Tezuka and Fuji joined their ranks, and he looked at his captain beseechingly. Tezuka said nothing, however; he merely turned his attention to Ryuuzaki-sensei, and the others followed his lead as she stood in front of her students and cleared her throat.

The aged woman fixed the boys with a solemn gaze, and she took a deep, steadying breath before she began to speak with no preamble. "All of you are wanting to know what happened yesterday afternoon, right?" She paused, gathering the various yet unanimous nods that passed between her players. "Let me say, though, that everything said in this room remains strictly confidential. You will tell no one, not even your families, and if you can't keep your mouths shut then I want you to leave now." Ryuuzaki waited for several long moments, but she continued when every one of the boys remained seated without so much as a twitch.

"Echizen is in a bad place right now," she began. "His parents are splitting up, and there are a lot of issues that he's dealing with. I want you to keep quiet about this because Echizen is a very private person, as I'm sure you all know. More than that, though," the coach gave her students a stern gaze as several of them opened their mouths to question the necessity of keeping this information in confidence, "is the fact that Nanjirou is a very famous tennis player, and of course Echizen's tennis has also been in the spotlight lately, and if a reporter hears _any_ slight mention of this, it will turn into–at the least–a nationwide scandal."

Kawamura breathed a sigh of relief, and Kaidoh visibly relaxed. The others, however, stayed silent, a dissatisfied frown on each of their faces. Inui was the first to question his sensei's story.

"What you say sounds plausible, and I am inclined to believe you," he said, closing his ever-present notebook and adjusting his glasses. "However," he continued, suspiciously, "there is something you are not telling. All the data I have on Echizen Ryoma suggests that, while he may be put out of sorts by his parents divorcing, it is not nearly enough to drive him to kill himself.

"Let's face it," he elaborated at his teammates' horrified expressions, "what Echizen left for us at Kawamura Sushi yesterday could only be classified as a suicide note."

There was a silence, and then Fuji chuckled softly. "Ever the observant one, aren't you, Inui?" He turned to Ryuuzaki, a knowing look on his face. "I did warn you that this wouldn't be so simple, yes?"

The old woman sighed in reluctant acceptance. "Yes, Fuji, you did," she acknowledged, rubbing her temples to dissipate an oncoming headache. "Inui is right on both counts. The important missing piece of data is the reason why Nanjirou is divorcing his wife."

"She's been hurting Ochibi, hasn't she?"

Every head in the room but one swiveled to face Kikumaru. He was sitting hunched on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees, expression grim. He was not known to be the most insightful or the most serious of the boys on the tennis team; he was quite the opposite, in fact. That day, however, there was neither any laughter in his voice nor any bounce in his step. It was very strange and more than a little disconcerting for the others to see him this way, and it only added to the depressing atmosphere.

"Ochibi was scratched up and hurt when we Oishi and Momo and me saw him. It's because of her, isn't it?" Ryuuzaki nodded solemnly, and Kikumaru bowed his head to hide his face.

The others' reactions were just as Tezuka had predicted: Inui had known; Oishi swooned, and Kawamura looked as if he might be sick; Kaidoh hissed and glowered in a suppressed rage, and Momoshiro leapt from his seat and exploded in fury. Kikumaru was the odd man out, for he simply remained seated, shaking slightly. Once Momoshiro had let off enough steam to relatively calm himself, the redhead spoke softly as his friend seated himself next to him.

"Why," he asked, voice quivering in indignation, "did it have to be Ochibi?" No one could answer, so they all remained bleakly silent. "What did he ever do to deserve this? What did he do to _her_?" His volume raised steadily as he stood, face alight with ire. He remained uninterrupted, so he continued to rave, barely pausing for breath.

"A mother is supposed to love her child! Why would she ever want to _hurt_ him? Sure, he's got a cocky attitude, but anyone who knows him knows that he doesn't really mean anything by it! It can't be karma; he's only ever hurt anyone in tennis, and that's just because he's so good that he can beat people without even trying! He never really _injures_ anyone! So _why_? _**Why**_? It's just _**not fair**_!"

He stood, heaving deep breaths, and no one said a word. They all knew that every word of what he had said was true, and only one person dared so speak against it.

"Life's not fair, Kikumaru."

The acrobat frowned and turned to his captain. "But, buchou!"

"It's true, Eiji."

"Fujiko, nya! Not you, too!"

The smiling tensai merely shook his head at his hyperactive friend. "Life's not fair," he said, repeating Tezuka's words. "Everyone gets screwed over every now and then; it just so happens that Ryoma-chan has it worse than some others. There's nothing anyone can do about it, even though we all wish that there was." It was the truth, of course; what was more, it was absolute and indisputable. And none of them even tried to go against it.

Now that her players were subdued once again, Ryuuzaki-sensei cleared her throat to gain their attention. "Now that you know about this," she told them, "you know why it absolutely _must_ remain a secret. It is extremely rare for a case of child abuse to be exposed here in Japan. If any of you let even _one_ thing slip, Echizen and Nanjirou's personal lives will be splashed all over the news for who knows how long.

"But," the woman continued, the edge in her tone softening a bit, "there's something even more important that you need to do."

Momoshiro spoke first, but all agreed with him when he said, "Just tell us what to do. We'll do anything we can to help."

Ryuuzaki crossed her arms beneath her chest and stared at each young man in the room directly in the eyes. There was a warmth for her students in them, but there was also an exacting and tenacious feeling in them that let them know that she was Serious, and they would be in Trouble if they disregarded her next words. Only when she appeared satisfied that the boys grasped this did she give her instructions.

"No matter what," she said, her elderly voice as strong as it had ever been in her youth, "you _must __**not**_ treat Ryoma any differently than you have before now." Several of the boys opened their mouths to protest, she held up a hand to still them. "No, don't give me any 'but's. I said it when we started, and I'll say it again now: We all know that Echizen is a very private person. If he wants to talk to you about this, he will. If you start treating him like he's going to break, you may very well drive him to do just that. He doesn't need eight nursemaids; he needs his friends. Be there when he comes to you, but otherwise, don't act any differently.

"I know that it's going to be difficult for all of us. There's no getting around it. But if we want to help, then this is what we need to do. Understand?"

There were several tense minutes as the boys sat in silence, mulling over their coach's words. Tezuka was not worried, though, despite the fact that others in his place may have been. He had faith in his teammates. He knew that, eventually, they would accept the fact that this was the best course of action–the only course of action, really–just as he and Fuji had. And, slowly but surely, each of them nodded in agreement, one by one.

Finally, Momoshiro broke the silence. "I'll do everything you told us to," he said, annoyance prevalent in his tone, "but I'm still not happy about this. What kind of person hurts their kid?"

"We can discuss this later," Tezuka told him, assuming control of his players, "but right now we need to practice. It won't be long before we'll have to postpone club meetings until spring, so we need to get as much work done now as possible."

Kikumaru groaned. "Oh, come on, buchou," he whined, "it's getting cold outside–the ice cream stand closed up over two weeks ago–and it's not as if we have any opponents!"

Tezuka, however, was adamant. "Let's not get careless."

Kawamura laughed. "That's our buchou! Always right down to business."

The tension was broken, and the boys grabbed their tennis bags and filed out of the clubroom. At last, when only Tezuka, Fuji, and Ryuuzaki-sensei remained, the old woman sighed and turned to her two students. "Well," she said, "it's going to be very interesting around here for a while, I think. I wish you both the best." She left to join the others on the court, and Fuji turned to his friend as they stepped outside into the wind.

"Hey, Kunimitsu," he said, allowing his smile to drop in their privacy, "There is a cold wind blowing in the east."

"Hmm." Tezuka shook his head and readjusted his tennis bag on his shoulder as Fuji followed their coach. _The wind lies in the east, indeed. I only wonder what misfortune it will bring to us..._

* * *

As soon as his son was out of sight on his way to school, Echizen Nanjirou made a beeline for the telephone. Honestly, it was a relief that Ryoma had insisted on returning to classes that morning. There were a lot of things that Nanjirou needed to deal with as soon as possible that he did not want the boy to be involved with; there was enough on his mind as it was. And unfortunately, the first thing he needed to do was call his wife.

He dialed Rinko's cell phone number and waited for her to answer, trying to sort out what he was going to say to her. What _could_ he say to her after what had happened the other night? She had betrayed both him and Ryoma, and he had betrayed her in a way, too, he supposed. She had needed help, help that she should have been given when he had first caught her in the act of abusing their son. But no, he hadn't seen that she had changed, what she was going through; he hadn't wanted to see. He hadn't wanted things to change, but it was too late, for certain; irreversible, life changing events had already been set into motion and begun to spiral out of control.

"_Dear?_"

Nanjirou was pulled from his musings as his wife answered his call. He didn't respond at once, doubting if this was the right thing to be doing after all. He could always forge the paperwork if need be, couldn't he?

"_Are you there, Darling?_"

He shook his head, ridding himself of the though. No, Rinko deserved to have the closure of signing the appropriate documents. And so did he. It wouldn't feel right otherwise.

"Yeah, it's me."

There was silence, and for a moment Nanjirou wondered if she had hung up the phone. After several long, tense seconds, however, she answered him once more.

"_Dear, it's so good to hear your voice again! I was afraid that that demon had brainwashed you, but it seems that you've finally come to your senses. Now you can get out of there and come be with me again!_"

"No."Nanjirou gathered his wits and put and end to her misconception before it could carry on any further. "Rinko, I need you to come downtown with me so that we can sign divorce papers."

Rinko paused in her exaltations, shocked by her husband's words. Her voice was harsh when she next spoke. "_So he _has_ brainwashed you, after all,_" she spat. Nanjirou heard her snort on her end of the telephone line. "_Very well, then. I'll meet you at the ward office at noon._" She hesitated then, before uncertainly saying, "_Nanjirou, I love you._"

Nanjirou sighed sadly before replying in kind. "I love you, too, Rinko. But this is the way it has to be. I'm sorry." There was silence and then a soft click, signaling that their telephone conversation was over. He replaced the receiver on its cradle and collapsed into a chair beside it. How had he allowed things to come to this? Oh, how he wished things could be different... that they could return to normal...

Unbidden, a child's song arose from the recesses of his memory. He remembered, when Ryoma was little, that their small family would gather each night to read a book and spend time together (at the insistence of Rinko, naturally). One of the books that they had read was entitled _Holes_, written by Louis Sachaar. In it was penned a short tune, and Rinko had taken to singing it as a lullaby. Now, in his solitude, Nanjirou softly sang it to himself.

" '_If only, if only,' the woodpecker cries,_

'_the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.'_

_While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,_

_he cries to the moon,_

'_If only, if only.' _"

* * *

Ryoma sighed and rested his head on his desk. Really, now, he was beginning to think that he should have stayed at home instead of attending classes. _I would have just stayed in bed if I'd known that we would be spending the day planning a booth for the Fall Festival_.

But then again, maybe it was best that he knew what he was going to be forced into. After all, by being in class he could at least refuse the more outrageous ideas. _I can't believe Osakada wanted _me_ to be in a _kissing booth_! _Then again, he shouldn't be surprised. After all, Osakada Tomoka had been the president of his fan club since he was a freshman at Seishun Middle School.

"Um, maybe we could set up a goldfish game?"

Ah, wonderful Ryuuzaki. The voice of reason. Ryoma felt eternally grateful to her for interrupting Tomoka's monologue suggesting that they center their class booth around the rising tennis star, charging money for photographs with him and signed pictures of him in action on the tennis courts. Honestly, he was beginning to truly doubt that girl's sanity, which was saying something considering all of the strange people he had met through tennis, the least of which were the other Seigaku regulars.

Horio scoffed. "A _goldfish game_?" He raised his unibrow, an incredulous expression on his face. "Oh, come _on_! Could you get any more _lame_?"

Ryuuzaki blushed and shifted lower into her seat. Osakada, however, stood abruptly, knocking her chair onto the floor in the process, and rose to her friend's defense. "Oh, like you're one to talk, Horio," she exclaimed, angrily pointing a finger at him. "When I talked about Ryoma-sama giving autographs and taking pictures, you said that _you'd_ be glad to do it in his place!" Her point made, she snorted crossed her arms over her chest. "At least Sakuno-chan's idea is realistic! Yours would have driven people _away_ from our booth!"

Horio scowled and stood as well, growling in the girl's face. "I don't know what you're talking about! I have six years of tennis experience, and I'm going to be a regular when the season starts up again!"

Ryoma groaned and slammed his hands over his ears, though it did little to drown out the argument between the two biggest loudmouths in Seigaku. He still had a headache from the previous night, and so far his day had done nothing but add to it. The good news was that because of his migraine, he was unable to think about anything that had happened at home recently; every time a stray thought wandered through his mind, he was filled with a splitting pain. _God, what I wouldn't give for some peace and quiet!_

Luckily, it seemed that someone had heard his prayers, for at that moment the school bell rang to signal the beginning of lunch period. Ryoma wasted no time in grabbing his bag and racing out the door, heading for the roof to escape the noise and a well deserved nap. Unfortunately, when he arrived at the top of the building, it was not empty as he had been hoping for it to be.

Leaning against the metal fence, facing the entrance and apparently waiting for him, was none other than Fuji Syuusuke. Ryoma mentally ran through his options, and although finding a place away from Fuji to relax sounded tempting, it would probably be an impossible task. Resigning himself to whatever fate the tensai had in mind for him, the freshman shrugged his bag off his shoulder and laid down on the ground, resting his head upon his things.

There was silence as Ryoma felt Fuji walking across the rooftop and crouch beside him. He remained there for several minutes, not saying a word, before he unnerved his kouhai enough for him to crack open and peer through one eye at him. "Did you want something?" he asked tiredly, more than slightly annoyed at not being allowed to sleep.

Fuji's smile widened a bit, and he hummed a little. "Yeah, I did."

Ryoma waited for his senpai to continue, but he simply crouched where he was, humming softly. Growing impatient, he tried another approach. "What do you want, Fuji-senpai?"

"No! _Syuusuke-kun_!"

Ryoma shut his eye, sighed, and complied with his wishes. "What do you want, _Syuusuke_?"

Fuji chuckled and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall. Ryoma flinched when he placed a hand on his head, tensing as the older boy carded his fingers through his dark hair, but he eventually forced himself to relax. _Actually,_ he thought, _that's kind of nice. Not that I'd ever tell him that._ Several moments passed like this before the honey-haired boy spoke his mind.

"I was waiting for, Ryoma-chan," he explained, not pausing his ministrations, "because I wanted to invite you to go for sushi with Mitsu-kun and me this evening."

Ryoma's eyes shot open, his countenance adopting a confused appearance. "What?" he asked, bewildered. Perhaps he had misunderstood. After all, why would Fuji and Tezuka want go anywhere with _him_? They had no obligation to spend any time with him beyond tennis club, and yet... and yet yesterday they had escorted him home, held him when he needed comfort, and done their best to reassure them that, should he ever need their assistance, they would readily offer it to him.

But why would they do that? They only needed him to play tennis; why would it matter if he was depressed as long as he was in top form? They had said that they were his friends, but why would they want to friends with _him_? After all, he was nothing important, nothing worthwhile.

But there was no trace of insincerity on his face, nor any sign that he was unwanted. Fuji elaborated, perhaps sensing his thoughts. "We're friends, aren't we? Friends go out and have fun together. And besides," he grew less lighthearted, and his smile grew more serious, "after yesterday, you could really use a night on the town, yeah?"

Yes, he most definitely could. He really needed a distraction, something that wouldn't remind him of his mother and soon to be lack thereof. Ryoma gave the tensai a calculated stare, trying to discern whether or not he was simply writing him into a sadistic plot, but he could not detect anything either way. He closed his eyes and leaned into his soothing touch, deciding to take a chance and say yes. Even if he was just playing with him, he doubted that things would get much worse than they already were.

"I'll need to see what the old man says," he answered at last, beginning to relax once more. He couldn't see Fuji's face, but he had a feeling that there was a broad smile stretched across it.

"Go to sleep, Ryoma-chan," Fuji told him, pulling out a book with his unoccupied hand. "I'll wake you when lunch is over."

The younger boy needed no further prompting, for with his senpai still running soft, delicate fingers through his hair, he quickly found himself ensconced in a deep, peaceful slumber.

* * *

Nanjirou reread the divorce papers his wife had handed to him, desperately hoping that he was imagining things. There was no way possible that Rinko had filed for full custody of Ryoma, was there? Not when she resented the boy's very existence! But no, he was not mistaken. Grimacing, Nanjirou tightened his grip on the papers and glanced over top of them at the woman before him. "Rinko," he said, voice taught, "I am not giving you custody of Ryoma."

Rinko appeared to be unperturbed. She smiled at her husband indulgently. "Dear," she told him softly, "I'm doing this for you. For _us_," she added at his incredulous look. "You need time away from _his_ influence so that you can remember what's important. Once you can see _him_ from afar, you will realize that _he_ really is nothing more than demon in disguise."

Nanjirou's eyes narrowed into a glare, and he tore the papers in his hands to shreds. "I will _not_," he spat, "let you take _my_ son and hurt him again!" He paused, quieting his voice so that he would not attract any unwanted attention. "We are not leaving this office until you sign over full custody of Ryoma to me."

Rinko stepped back defiantly. "No," she insisted. "I won't let you stay caught in his trap. _He_ will be coming with me until you find yourself once more."

Nanjirou closed his eyes wearily, also taking a step away from his wife. "Nothing I can say or do will change your mind?" he asked.

"Nothing," she declared.

He sighed and opened his eyes, which were now blazing with unyielding resolve. "Then I have no other choice." He turned around and clenched his fists, steeling himself for what he must do. "If you won't leave us alone, then I have to bring you up on charges for child abuse. What you've done has gone on for much too long. I tried to give you another chance, I tried to reason with you, but it obviously hasn't worked." He started for the door, saddened that it had come to this.

"I'll see you in court."

* * *

After classes, Ryoma arrived at the tennis club locker room before anyone else. He hurriedly changed before walking toward the courts. He stopped and stood in front of an empty wall, taking his racket in his right hand and drilling a tennis ball against the bricks. He relaxed, allowing himself to clear his mind and lose himself in simple repetition of the activity. He remained where he was for at least a good fifteen minutes before he was abruptly pulled out of his peaceful state.

"Oi, brat!" Momoshiro suddenly appeared behind him, grabbing him in a headlock and scaring him out of his wits. "Who do you think you are, skipping morning practice? Do you think you're too good for us?"

Ryoma heard his words, but they barely registered in his mind. _He was home again, pinned against the wall, and-_

"Oi, Echizen, you okay? I didn't mean it, you know."

–_her hands were around his neck, he couldn't move, he couldn't–_

"Hey, Momo, are you coming?"

–_he couldn't _breathe_, and her nails were digging into his skin, there was such _pain_, and–_

"Hey, Momo, what's wrong with Ochibi?"

–_oh, god, he couldn't _breathe_, he–_

"I don't know, he just froze up and–"

–_had to get away, he had to _**breathe**_, he–_

"_Momoshiro, let go of Ryoma_!"

He was back on the tennis court, the hands were gone, god, he could _breathe_ again! Ryoma unzipped the collar of his jacket and scratched at his throat, opening the angry cuts that had partially healed, trying to rid himself of the phantom pain caused by the memory. His knees collapsed underneath him, and he fell to the ground, coughing harshly. Dimly, he recognized three figures in blue and while Seigaku jerseys huddled around him. One of them stretched an arm out to rest a hand on his shoulder, and Ryoma shuddered, his breath caught in his throat, he couldn't breathe anymore–

"Give him some air!"

The hand disappeared, the figures backed away, and Ryoma mentally thanked his fukubuchou for his quick thinking as air returned to his lungs once more. He stayed where he was for several minutes, breathing deeply, his awareness slowly returning. He could see, now, that there were four of them: Momoshiro, looking intensely guilty and remorseful; Oishi, who had placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to help, overcome with worry; Kikumaru, bouncing up and down, a frown on his face; and Tezuka, scowling, arms crossed, a concerned gleam in his eyes.

Finally, Ryoma's trembling ceased, and he stood, pulling down his cap to cover the embarrassed blush on his cheeks. "Sorry," he apologized, turning to walk onto the court where the rest of the team had already gathered. "I'm fine."

But he was only able to move a few feet away from where he had stood, for the others had bypassed him and were now blocking his path. He glared up at them, red still visible on his face. "Did you want something?" he asked irritably.

Oishi fidgeted as if he wanted to give him a comforting touch like he tried to do before, but much to Ryoma's relief he refrained. Instead, he simply asked, "Echizen, are you sure you're all right?"

The freshman scowled, and his glare deepened. "_I'm fine_," he repeated, shifting his weight on his feet uneasily, and gazed pointedly at the tennis courts ahead of him. "Are you going to let me through?"

Oishi glanced at Tezuka. The bespectacled young man moved aside, and the others shortly, if a bit hesitantly, followed his example. Ryoma continued forward, not sparing a glance back.

Throughout practice, his mind was racing. Although he able to play decently while distracted, his game was noticeably lacking its usual intensity. At the moment, though, tennis was the least of his worries. He was lost in thought, lost in memories, once again questioning his very existence.

Should he really be here, enjoying himself?

Should he have lived through his mother's attempt to strangle him?

Why did his father save him?

Why did his mother try to kill him in the first place?

Was his birth really a horrible mistake?

At last, Ryuuzaki-sensei called all of her players to attention and dismissed them with a few short words. Ryoma absentmindedly returned to the locker room and changed out of his sweaty clothes, attempting to ignore the stares he was bound to get because of his bruises. The constant questions, however, were more difficult to disregard–especially the ones coming from Horio's big mouth.

"Hey, Echizen, where did you get that ugly bruise? It looks like someone kicked you in the gut!"

Kachirou and Katsuo, naturally, were right behind him. "Hey, Ryoma-kun," Kachirou asked, not as rude as Horio yet not as unobtrusive as Katsuo, "Where did you get those marks on your arms and neck? I didn't see them before because of your jacket, but they look kind of like hand prints."

Yes, fortunately, Ryoma had been able to wear his full regular uniform because of the cold weather, sparing him the awkward glances and incessant inquiries. It seemed, though, that despite his best attempts at avoiding these, his evasion had been futile. In fact, considering the fact that Horio was one of the biggest gossipers at Seishun (second only to Osakada Tomoka), the entire freshman class–if not the entire school–would know about his troubles at home.

Katsuo timidly entered the conversation. "Are you being bullied by other players again, Ryoma-kun?" he asked. "If so, then you should probably talk to senpai-tachi and Ryuuzaki-sensei about it."

"Actually, there's no need."

The freshman trio abruptly jumped spun around to face the entrance to the locker room, where Fuji stood blocking the doorway, smiling innocently. "It's being taken care of as we speak," he said. "Well, if you three are going to stay here a while, Inui's in the chemistry lab working on his new juice. I'm sure he would appreciate you're input on it. I would do it myself, but I'm afraid that I have somewhere to be."

Horio, Kachirou, and Katsuo steadily turned green as Fuji spoke, and they were all looking decidedly ill by the time he was finished. Hastily, they each made an excuse and passed their senpai, exiting the room. Fuji looked rather satisfied as they left. Ryoma finished dressing himself and then turned to his teammate, who had yet to depart. "Did you need something, Fuji-senpai?" he asked.

"_Syuusuke-kun_."

"Syuusuke. Well?"

Fuji smiled brightly and hitched his tennis bag higher onto his shoulder. "We're going out with Kunimitsu tonight, remember? I thought we could go to a movie or something before dinner."

Ryoma frowned and bent down to pick up his things. "Fu–Syuusuke, I don't even know if I can go for sushi yet. I still have to check with the old man, remember?"

The honey-haired boy's smile did not falter. Instead, he moved forward to place his arm around his kouhai's shoulders, making certain that he was able to see his every move. "In that case," he said, "why don't we go get Mitsu-kun and do that right now?" And with that he walked out the door, taking the younger boy with him. When they reached the school gates they met up with Tezuka, who was waiting patiently for them just outside the entrance. Together, the three boys began the walk to the temple where Ryoma lived.

Unsurprisingly, Fuji carried most of the conversation during the journey. He talked about his most recent photographs, about how Yuuta was doing in his new school, and about the book he was reading in his Western Literature class. He even spent several minutes expressing how he was looking forward to testing Inui's new juice and speculating what it might taste like. By the time the were nearing the top of the hill upon which Ryoma's house sat, both the freshman and his captain were looking rather green around the gills, so to speak.

As they passed through the temple gates and passed through the grounds, Fuji smiled down at Ryoma, whose shoulders he still had wrapped in his arm. "I hope you don't mind us coming in with you," he told him, although his face and voice indicated that they would be escorting him inside if he did.

Ryoma simply gave a soft "Che" and said, "Do whatever you want," walking into the house and out of his friend's grasp. Tezuka frowned disapprovingly at Fuji for his brusqueness, but the tensai merely smirked at him.

"I'm home," Ryoma called through the house as he paused in the doorway to remove his shoes. He then stepped inside and climbed the stairs, going straight to his bedroom. Dimly, he realized that he was being followed by the other boys, but he ignored them as he tossed his bag on the floor and flopped himself onto his bed. Karupin jumped next to him and purred, nuzzling his master's hand in the hopes of receiving a scratch behind the ears, and he was not disappointed. Ryoma picked up his cat and placed him on his stomach, where Karupin curled into a giant ball of fur.

While the freshman was absentmindedly pampering his precious purring pet, Fuji was taking the liberty to observe his young friend's living space. Posters of professional tennis players adorned the walls, and the floor was littered with abused tennis balls. There was a small shelf filled with schoolbooks and a few novels, written in English and Japanese alike, and a several empty Ponta cans were in the waste basket. And perched on the wooden desk was a framed photograph of the Seishun tennis regulars, the very same one that he had left for his friends at Kawamura Sushi with his jacket and–as Inui had so _eloquently_ put it–suicide note.

"Ryoma-kun," Tezuka said, bringing the boy from his daze and Fuji from his snooping, "where is Echizen-san?"

Ryoma shrugged, moving Karupin and turning onto his side to face the wall. "I dunno," he told him, curling in on himself and his cat. "Maybe he wised up, went to join Rinko-san, and isn't coming back."

Fuji frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in dissatisfaction. "You know, Ryoma-chan," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk, "you need to be less pessimistic. I'm sure that he would never do that."

Tezuka nodded in agreement. "Echizen-san is a good man." Ryoma, however, merely sighed doubtfully.

The captain's question, however, was answered shortly as they heard the opening and closing of the sliding wooden doors and a call of "I'm home" rang throughout the house. Several minutes later Nanjirou poked his head through the doorway. "Ah, there you are," he said, glancing around the room. "Oh, hey, Tezuka-kun, Fuji-kun. How're you doing?"

Fuji smiled brightly at the monk. "We're doing good, thanks, Echizen-san."

Nanjirou frowned in displeasure. "Man," he complained, "what's with this 'Echizen-san' stuff? You make me sound like an old man!"

The tensai tilted his head to the side and smiled innocently. "Oh? Then what would you rather I call you? Old man, maybe? Or how about pervert-san?"

The older man balked, both surprised and insulted by Fuji's audacity. "Che! Youth," he exclaimed, scratching at his head and avoiding the boy's gaze. "So uncute these days. Nah, just Nanjirou'll do. I never did much care for all that formality here in Japan."

Tezuka gave his friend a reproachful stare, and Fuji chuckled. "Well, Nanjirou-san," he began, reclaiming the man's attention, "Kunimitsu and I would like to take Ryoma-chan out to dinner, if that's all right with you."

Nanjirou paused and scratched at his whiskery chin, muttering quietly to himself as he contemplated the idea. Honestly, Ryoma still did not understand why the two wanted to treat him to dinner in the first place; after all, he could eat just as well at home as he could at some restaurant. He knew, though, that there was little to no chance of dissuading his seniors, so he simply laid on his bed, listening to them ask his father for his permission.

At last the Samurai snapped his fingers and nodded, folding his arms inside his robes. "It's fine with me," he approved, leaning against the door frame, "but I'd like to come with you. I need to talk to you guys, and besides," his mouth stretched into an embarrassed grin, "if I tried to cook for myself I'd burn down the house."

Ryoma couldn't help himself; he snorted in mirth and rolled his eyes. _I'll say,_ he thought to himself, _considering that the _last_ time you tried to cook, you set your clothes on fire._

Tezuka nodded, somehow unsurprised by Nanjirou's admission. "Very well," he agreed, and with a glance to his watch he said, "shall we be on our way?"

Twenty minutes later the unlikely group was waiting to be seated at a sushi and hibachi place that Ryoma had never seen. Puzzled as to why they had gone out of their way to come to this specific sushi bar, he turned and asked why they weren't eating at Kawamura's. Fuji answered his question as they were led to a hibachi table by a young waitress. "Well, we might have run into a lot of people at Taka-san's place," he said. "I figured that we could use some privacy, especially since Nanjirou-san is with us."

"Th-thanks."The small tennis champion stuttered slightly, taken aback by his senpai's thoughtfulness. Fuji smiled down at him.

"It's nothing," he told him, slinging an arm around his kouhai's shoulders. "Besides, the chefs here always give me extra wasabi with my food."

Ryoma twitched slightly at the thought of the spicy paste, and he pushed the arm off him as he sat at the table. "Just don't get any in _my_ food, okay Fu–ah, Syuusuke?"

The brown-haired boy smiled innocently at him.

They were all seated and given menus, and Nanjirou immediately settled himself in his chair and scanned the choices offered. "Hey, Tezuka-kun, you've eaten here before, haven't you? What's good?"

Tezuka folded his menu after a precursory glance for any new items before answering the question asked of him. He fixed the glasses on his face and gazed seriously at the man next to him. "Don't eat anything Fuji orders." Fuji looked affronted at his friend's words, and Ryoma chuckled a bit.

Soon enough they had all ordered, and their food was prepared in a dazzling display of flashing knives and blazing fire. Once it was served the chef set a small dish of extra wasabi in front of Fuji, bowed, and returned to the kitchen. The four sampled their meals, and when they decided that they were satisfied with the taste, they began to eat at a relaxed pace.

Fuji, happily gobbling a wasabi roll, raised a query to the others. "Nanjirou-san," he asked, "what is it that you needed to speak with us about?"

Nanjirou, having a mouth full of fish and rice, did not answer at once. He swallowed with some difficulty and took a sip of sake before wiping his mouth with a napkin. Then the monk sighed. "Geez, where to start?" he contemplated, scratching his head in thought. "Well, I went to the ward office to meet Rinko and fill out some paperwork, but things didn't exactly go as planned..."

And so he told the three teenagers of how Rinko had filed for full custody of Ryoma, how he had protested and destroyed her papers, how she had refused to give full custody to her husband, and how Nanjirou had promised to bring her up on charges. At the end of his tale, all was silent.

Tezuka and Fuji were both frowning. "We were half expecting something like this to happen," the tensai admitted, "although we were hoping that it wouldn't." Tezuka "hmm"ed in agreement.

Ryoma snapped his chopsticks open and shut, playing with the rice and vegetables on his plate. Despite having ordered his favorite grilled fish, he no longer had any appetite. He had desperately wanted to avoid any sort of confrontation between his mother and father; after all, wasn't that what had created this entire situation in the first place? He didn't know if he would be able to handle seeing his parents fighting–and over him!

And if they went to court, wouldn't he have to testify against his mother? That was how things worked in America, anyway. Could he do that? Could he _really_ do that, knowing that not only would he be putting his own mother in jail, and admitting that she wanted him dead, but that there was also a chance that the media would catch the story and tell it to every person in Japan? He wasn't sure.

_Maybe things _would _have been better if Fuji-senpai hadn't caught me on that bridge..._

"–oma-chan?"

Ryoma was brought out of his musings, ironically, by the person he was thinking about at that very moment. He shook he head, clearing his thoughts. "Ah, sorry, but, what was the question?"

Fuji smiled indulgently as he repeated his query. "Are you alright, Ryoma-chan? After what happened this afternoon at practice, I mean. I don't believe I asked you yet."

Nanjirou frowned and glanced quizzically at the boys. "And what, exactly, happened this afternoon at practice?" he asked, more than a little suspicion evident in his voice.

"It was nothing. I'm fine." His son, obviously, was reluctant to speak about the event from earlier and tried to downplay the event as much as possible. It was a fresh wound, in more ways than one. It had been terrifying to relive his mother's attempt on his life, but to know that he would likely experience it again, possibly many times over, perhaps for the remainder of his life... It chilled him to the core to even think about it. Unfortunately, the others refused to take his rather blunt hint and let the topic die.

Tezuka, ever the dutiful buchou, relayed what had occurred to the concerned father. "I believe Ryoma had a flashback," he told him.

Nanjirou furrowed his brow, pensive. He sighed, and Ryoma wondered if he had disappointed him in some way. "I was afraid that this might happen," he said, reaching into his robes for a cigarette only to have it snatched away from him by Tezuka; they were in a restaurant, after all. He rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance. "Kid, you and me are going to get some advice about all of this on Sunday."

Ryoma frowned. He knew what he meant by this, and he didn't like it, not one bit. "I don't need to see a shrink," he protested, giving his fish a vicious stab, spearing it on his chopsticks before taking a large bite and chewing it with vigor. He was purposefully ignoring Nanjirou for even suggesting such a thing, and he continued to do so for the rest of the evening.

So his father thought he was insane... _and maybe I am,_ he realized. _After all, what sane person would chuck himself off a bridge? Maybe that's why Mom hates me so much–because I took away her chance of having a _normal_ child and a _normal_ family... But still,_ he thought, stabbing a mushroom this time, _that doesn't mean that I want to talk to total stranger about my _feelings_!_

Nanjirou bated Ryoma several times throughout the remainder of dinner, trying to elicit a response–_any_ response–from his son. The boy was persistent, though, and he either pretended that he didn't exist altogether or made a scathing remark to Fuji, earning a reprimand from Tezuka.

Gradually, the food disappeared, and it was eventually time to leave and part ways for the night. The Echizens thanked the two seniors for dinner, to which Fuji simply ruffled Ryoma's hair and replied, "No problem." As they said their goodbyes, Tezuka fixed Ryoma with a stern look.

"Take care of yourself," he told him, and Ryoma knew that this was as much an order as any given on the tennis court. He nodded.

"Yes, buchou." _I'll try, even if I don't understand why you all seem to care so much._

Fuji waved, Nanjirou lazily brought a hand up in farewell, and the four parted ways. The sky was dark as father and son headed home, but their path was well lit by street lamps. The lamps, though, were not bright enough to block out the light of the glimmering stars above. Ryoma gazed up at them, pulling his coat tight against his body as a particularly cold wind blew through him. There was less than a week left in October, and snow had been predicted for the beginning of November. There was only one day of practice left until the tennis club was postponed until spring. Winter was on its way, and it was bringing with it many changes. _What_ changes, exactly, Ryoma did not know. Only time would tell.

* * *

"Keigo-bocchama, I have a report that you may want to see."

Atobe Keigo looked up from his paperwork and elegantly raised an eyebrow at the servant across from his desk. "Oh?"

"Yes. As you have instructed, I have been keeping tabs on certain employees, and this request was filed this afternoon."

Keigo scanned the file handed to him, and his second eyebrow joined the first. His eyes narrowed as he read further, and then he abruptly snapped the file shut and tossed it back to the servant, who dutifully bowed and left the office. The young Atobe heir schooled his expression, folding his hands and leaning back in his chair. "Well, then," he said quietly to himself, eyes gleaming, "it seems that I have some unexpected work ahead of me."

* * *

Story Notes:

**(1) Ward office:** This is where couples in Japan go to file for divorce. They need only to fill out, sign, stamp, and turn in paperwork.

Translations:

_-bocchama_ - young master

* * *

AN: Finally, the chapter's finished! Hmm... the ending seems to be a bit rushed, though. That's probably because I was writing and getting kicked off the computer back and forth between paragraphs, though. Anyway, more of the plot is coming through! Yay! The romance factor is still undecided, but at this point I don't think that there will be any. There's always a chance, though.

I know that Ryoma's attitude is really ambiguous right now, but I'm trying to stay true to his character. He's trying to put up a front and act like nothing's wrong, but in reality he's extremely bothered by everything. After all, who wouldn't be in his position?

So another chapter is finished. I hope you all liked it! Please review and let me know!

-Sugarpony

**Edited: 2/09/08**

**Second Edit: 3/25/08**

**Third Edit: 1/07/13**


	5. Hector Protector

AN: Aheheh... So. Yeah. I know that it has been an insanely long amount of time since my last update. I was working on getting into college, but that's pretty much finished now, so hopefully that won't distract me anymore. I was also distracted by an original novel that I am writing and hope to one day have published, which is currently still in the planning stages. I was hit by inspiration to write a new fanfiction, though, so updates should be coming much more quickly now, because I don't want to start a new story before I finish this one.

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's _Changechildren_.

Pairings: Hints of MomoAnn, Others Undecided.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warnings**: Mentions of child abuse and psychological abuse, course language, adult situations.

**Story Notes**:

**(1) Ore-sama-** "Ore" is one way that Japanese boys refer to themselves. "-sama" is an honorific usually associated with royalty. Basically, Atobe is calling himself a king (or a god. To be perfectly honest I can easily see him doing either.)

**(2) koi-** An honorific used to address one's lover.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Five

* * *

_Hector Protector was dressed all in green;_

_Hector Protector was sent to the Queen._

_The Queen did not like him,_

_No more did the King,_

_So Hector Protector was sent back again._

-"Hector Protector Was Dressed All in Green," a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

Saturday was a long, aggravating day for Ryoma, and it was only half over. Morning practice had been somewhat interesting, most likely due to the flashback he had had the day before and was currently trying to forget by pushing it into the deepest corner of his mind where he kept the names and faces of the many untalented tennis players he had defeated. Unfortunately, his teammates seemed to be doing the opposite, for they had unrelentingly hovered over him for the entirety of practice, as if at any moment he would drop the floor in a blubbering mess. They must have thought that they were doing him a favor, but in reality they were being annoying.

Thankfully, he had been able to get some rest in class. At lunchtime, though, when he had retreated to the rooftop for a little privacy, he had found himself once more spending the hour with Fuji. His senpai had chattered away at him the entire time, despite Ryoma's best attempts at ignoring the smiling young man; the first year was still angry at both he and Tezuka for their betrayal the previous evening when they informed his father (who was still insisting that he join him in a meeting with a psychiatrist the following day) of his flashback. Ryoma had ended up storming down the stairs and returning to the safety of his classroom after snapping his chopsticks in two and abandoning the bento Ryuuzaki had prepared for him.

Now afternoon practice, the last one until spring, was nearly over, and he was seriously considering ditching the last fifteen minutes. The only thing keeping him from walking off the court and making a run for it was the knowledge that Fuji would probably chase after him without so much as a reprimand from Tezuka, who would catch up to the pair after practice was finished.

Even if his friends had the best of intentions in mind, they were not helping. Ryoma was a petulant brat, and once he got into a bad mood he stayed there until someone forcibly snapped him out of it, which could take quite a bit of effort. And at the moment he was tired of being constantly hounded by everyone he knew. It was highly insulting, as if they did not have faith that he could take care of himself. He was fourteen for crying out loud! He had been traveling on the professional tennis circuit for the past two years! He was more than capable when it came to handling himself.

Ryoma let out an irritated breath as he was proven right when Inui approached him after he had finished running the laps that Tezuka had assigned to him. He tried to make a hasty escape as he spied a suspicious-looking sports bottle clutched in one of the data man's hands, but Inui's long legs caught up to him before he had taken five steps. His senpai rested a hand on his shoulder and spun him around, anticipating any attempts to flee, and his rectangular glasses flashed a familiar gleam at him. Ryoma shuddered involuntarily.

"Ah, Echizen-kun," the taller boy greeted, a frightening smile creeping onto his face, "just who I was looking for. I've been developing a new juice that enhances both physical and mental strength, and I was hoping that you could test it for me.

"You see," he explained, not once loosening his grip on his kouhai, who was ready to bolt at the slightest given opportunity, "some researchers have recently been claiming that certain ingredients will effect not only physical performance but also the emotions that one experiences. Take, for example, the assertion that chocolate has a calming effect on those who eat it. As such, I've decided to do some experiments of my own, and as you are at the age where your moods will be heightened by your hormones, you are the perfect one to assist me."

Ryoma restrained himself from nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he fervently wished for any kind of distraction. Even Tezuka or Fuji would be welcomed at this point, if only to save him from the terror that was Inui's latest concoction, which he had a good hunch was made especially for him. Unfortunately, it seemed that he would not be walking away from this encounter, for no one appeared and Ryoma was left with no option but to drink whatever Inui had prepared.

_Oh, well,_ he thought as he bravely took the bottle from his teammate's hand, _if nothing else I can use this as an excuse to get out of practice early._ And with that in mind he plugged his nose and downed the disgusting sludge, rushing to a convenient place to wait for the nausea to pass immediately afterward.

Finally, mercifully, the rest of practice passed and Tezuka and Ryuuzaki-sensei called all the students to Court A. The aging woman stepped forward and looked over the crowd before clearing her throat and addressing the club as a whole.

"I would like to thank you all," she began, "for your hard work and loyalty to the tennis club despite it being the off-season. I expect to see that same dedication come spring, no matter what new form of teen angst that makes me wish I had turned down this promotion comes along." She grinned, and a round of chuckles circulated the throng.

"To all of the third years, I would like to congratulate you all on your win at the Nationals and for improving so much in this short amount of time. I wish you all the best of luck after graduation.

"I will announce the new buchou and fuku-buchou before the first practice of the new season. That being said, you are all dismissed!"

Ryoma lingered on the courts with the other freshmen, hoping that the other regulars would tire of waiting for him to finish picking up tennis balls and leave the school without him. He easily tuned out Horio's boasting and the odd complaint and was able to momentarily relax as the mind-numbing monotony took its effect on him. The chore was soon done, and Ryoma returned to the clubhouse with his classmates to escape the growing chill.

Unfortunately, his deliberate dilly-dallying did not have the desired effect. After changing out of his sweaty clothes he was stopped midway between the club house and the soda machine for his usual post-practice Ponta by Momoshiro, who tossed a can to his friend as he sipped at one of the sugary drinks himself. Ryoma let out a disgruntled breath as he halted in his tracks and deftly caught the beverage in one hand while his senpai approached him.

"Yo," the trickster greeted, and Ryoma stiffened as the taller boy slung an arm good-naturedly across his kouhai's shoulders. "How about a burger run to celebrate winter break from the club?"

Ryoma shrugged off Momoshiro's grip and began walking toward the school gates. "No thanks, Momo-senpai," he dismissed him, preparing himself for the dispute that was certain to follow.

Momoshiro frowned at the younger boy and moved to follow him, not one to accept defeat so easily. "Aw, come on," he chided, "you can't live without some fun, no you can't! Junk food is just what you need right now!"

"I'm not hungry."

He snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, right. Like I'll buy that. You just don't want to pay the bill. It'll be my treat, okay? I'll buy you as much as you want."

"I have to take Karupin to the vet."

Ryoma stopped short and leaned backward as Momoshiro was suddenly in front of him, hands on his hips and he peering at his face a bit more closely than that with which he was comfortable. "Are you sure you're not just trying to ditch me?" the senpai asked, leaning in even further so that the two were practically nose to nose.

_Yes,_ Ryoma thought exasperatedly, although he kept it to himself, _that's _exactly_ what I'm trying to do._

The two stood that way for a few seconds before Momoshiro broke out into a grin and straightened himself, clapping his kouhai on the shoulders. "Sure, sure, go on ahead if you're that desperate. I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?" Waving goodbye, his guzzled down the rest of his soda, crushed the can, pitched it into a nearby trash can, and jogged away.

Ryoma tentatively began to trace his friend's path to the exit, almost afraid to allow himself to believe that he would not be accosted by anyone else on his way out of the school grounds. Much to his dismay, he found none other than the two people he least wanted to see waiting for him just outside the tennis area. He almost turned around to hide out in the clubroom, but he really did just want to go home - and besides, the building was already locked up tight. He didn't get more than a few steps forward before he was approached by Fuji, Tezuka waiting ahead of them.

"Finally ready to go, Ryoma-chan? I had begun to think that you had fallen in." Fuji smiled brightly at Ryoma as he pulled up beside his senpai, continuing on his path home without acknowledging either of the other boys' presence. Fuji 'tsk'ed at the ill-mannered behavior. "You know, Ryoma-chan," he purred as he and Tezuka walked beside him, "it's really quite rude of you to ignore us after we waited for you to finish cleaning the courts so that we could walk you home."

Ryoma scowled and tightened his grip on his tennis bag. "I don't need a baby-sitter," he bit out at him. Fuji clucked at him again, and he and Tezuka continued to follow him despite Ryoma's opposition, thankfully in silence. They had just turned onto the main walkway in the front of the building, however, when they were all stunned still.

Outside the school gates sat parked an elegant black stretch limousine, each of its doors fancifully emblazoned for all the world to see with the Atobe family crest. A few students who had lagged behind in their respective clubs had gathered around it in awed curiosity. Ryoma's scowl deepened as he forcibly squelched the urge to groan and palm his forehead in exasperation.

_Damn it,_ he thought angrily, now completely convinced that whatever god there was was conspiring against him. _What the hell is _he_ doing here?_

As there was only one way out of the grounds and it was currently being blocked off by the extravagant hunk of metal, Ryoma reluctantly resigned himself to approaching the car and finding out what it was the self-absorbed diva wanted. The three boys approached the limousine, and most of the crowd backed off and scattered as the Ice Emperor Atobe Keigo himself stepped onto Seigaku territory.

While Atobe looked around and sniffed in apparent disdain for Seishun's facilities, Tezuka and Fuji subtly positioned themselves slightly in front of Ryoma, who frowned in response. Fuji smiled brightly as he addressed their guest. "Atobe-san! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Atobe nodded slightly in acceptance of Fuji's greeting before turning his nose up and resuming his usual pompous arrogance. "Ore-sama is here to speak with Echizen, and ore-sama will not speak with anyone less. The rest of you plebeians may be on your way."

Neither of the older boys moved, and Tezuka frowned slightly. "Whatever you have to say to Ryoma-kun can be said in front of us," he said.

" 'Ryoma-kun,' is it?" Atobe gracefully arched one eyebrow at the familiar form of address. "Why, Tezuka-kun, ore-sama had no idea that you were so close. Have you been going soft on me?" Tezuka did not so much as blink at the accusation, which Ryoma chalked up to his incredible poker face, and the diva continued. "No matter. Even if you are going soft, ore-sama has something of great importance to discuss with Echizen, and it has nothing to do with you. Please go and do whatever it is you commoners do to entertain yourselves."

Fuji chuckled a bit at the insult. "Well, I'm afraid that we really must insist," he told Atobe. "You see, to be blunt, we really don't trust you with our precious little Ryoma-chan here. After all, it would be quite irresponsible of us to leave our kouhai alone in enemy hands, now wouldn't it?"

Ryoma scowled and pushed through his teammates. "I told you I don't need a baby-sitter, _Fuji-senpai_," he apprised them. "I can handle the monkey king myself."

Atobe glared at the freshman but otherwise let the jibe pass. Nonetheless, he was obviously affronted by the dig, proven by his ticking eyebrow as he gestured Ryoma into the limousine. Ryoma caught Fuji and Tezuka sharing a concerned glance as the vehicle pulled away from the curb, but at the moment he could not bring himself to care.

Once they were driving on the main road, Atobe having fixed himself a drink, settled into his seat, and daintily crossed his legs, the diva turned to address his companion, who was resting his chin in his hand as he gazed out the window. "Now, Echizen," he began, "Ore-sama am certain that you are wondering to what do you owe the honor of ore-sama's divine presence–"

Ryoma snorted and rolled his eyes, not needing to turn away from the limousine's tinted window to know that Atobe had a scowl on his face. "Not really," he told him. "I really don't give a flying rat's ass what you want; I only came with you to get away from the mother hens."

Atobe flipped his hair and allowed his scowl to melt into a cool expression. "Ore-sama suppose that they are simply picking up the slack left by someone else."

Ryoma's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he finally turned from the window to glare the older boy. "That's none of your business, Monkey King."

Here Atobe grinned like the cat that ate the canary in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Fuji and pounced upon Ryoma's words. "Ah, but it is _exactly_ my business, Echizen," he declared, and pulled several files out of a nearby briefcase. "For you see," he continued loftily, leafing through the papers, "Aizawa-Nakamura Legal Associates, with which I am certain you are more than familiar, is one of the many subsidiaries of Atobe Enterprises, and we at Atobe Enterprises pride ourselves upon taking an active role in both choosing our employees and maintaining our employees' happiness. The process includes a rigorous background check, personal visits, and, of course, a constant monitoring from a distance.

"Despite all this," he went on, having apparently found the documents for which he had been searching, as he had set most of the files aside and now held only one in his manicured hands, "Ore-sama was rather surprised when ore-sama received the tidings that a certain Echizen Rinko, one of Aizawa-Nakamura Legal Associates' competent lawyers, had requested a leave of absence in order to pursue divorce proceedings."

Ryoma's scowl soured, and he petulantly turned back to the window, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Atobe but keenly watching the young business man's reflection. "So what?" he bit out waspishly. "Lots of people get divorces."

Atobe didn't even blink. "Most people don't rush through the proceedings, using their connections to–illegally, I'm sure–bypass the mandatory mediation and push forward the court date." Ryoma could not think of a reply to this, so he simply remained silent.

"Now," Atobe opened the file he held at an angle at which Ryoma could read its contents, "Atobe Enterprises and all of its subsidiaries is required to provide legal assistance to all of its employees. However, Echizen Rinko has refused this offer, stating that she felt confident in her abilities to represent herself. Naturally, being the heir to one of the most powerful businesses in the country, ore-sama is well versed in the signals of someone who has something to hide. So, using his many resources, ore-sama investigated."

Ryoma stiffened but otherwise refused to acknowledge what Atobe was suggesting. It was none of his business, and even if he had suspicions, they couldn't be confirmed without the say so of a select few, all of whom he was certain he had had no recent contact with. Unfortunately, Atobe ignored this fact and leveled a steady gaze even with Ryoma's in the tinted window as he asked, "Where did those injuries come from, Echizen?"

Ryoma snapped his head around and glared at the boy's smug expression, practically growling his reply. "_That's_ none of your business, either, Monkey King."

Atobe said nothing, but the smugness did not leave his face as he exchanged the file in his hand for a slightly thinner one and tossed the new folder into Ryoma's lap. At the younger boy's inquiring glance, he explained. "In that file you will find all of the evidence needed to prove to you that I know just exactly what goes on behind closed doors. Of course, because it is circumstantial, it would not hold up in court–and believe me, that is the only reason Echizen Rinko has not yet been brought up on charges. Atobe Enterprises, while fully supporting their proper employees, does _not _approve of criminal practices, especially those which undermine the importance of and endanger a family heir."

He paused, allowing Ryoma to peruse the information at hand, which did indeed give quite an accurate depiction of reality. Ryoma felt a cold weight drop into his stomach as he scanned the pages, and he was forced to set the file aside before he became physically ill at the harsh reminder of just exactly how seriously screwed up his life was at the moment. Atobe took this as an indication to recommence his monologue.

"Now," he elaborated, "while Atobe Enterprises publicly backs all employees who have not been convicted of a crime, it does _not_ support those who are obviously guilty. And while the company is obligated to provide legal assistance to its employees," here his grin took on a decidedly predatory quality, "there is absolutely nothing forbidding the practice of providing that same assistance to its employees' opposition."

Ryoma narrowed his golden eyes once more, not liking the insinuation in Atobe's statement. "Get to the point, Monkey King."

Atobe frowned at the name but refrained from commenting, probably for the sake of what was likely to be a business proposition. He pulled one last file from his briefcase and slid it across the car seat to Ryoma. The younger boy stared at it for several seconds, debating whether or not to look at its contents, before deciding that he might as well get it over with so that he could leave the presence of the pompous teen (who had apparently told his driver to take a roundabout way to Ryoma's home, because they had yet to arrive at the temple). After briefly scanning the papers inside Ryoma's scowl deepened again, and he flung the file back at Atobe. "Even if what you're suggesting is true, I _refuse_ to accept a handout, and I most certainly don't want to owe anything to a _monkey_."

"Why you _brat_! Ore-sama have gone to the trouble of procuring the most outstanding of my own personal lawyers in order to benefit your case, and you _dare_ to turn down my help?!"

The vehicle finally rolled to a stop, and Ryoma hastily shouldered his tennis bag, climbed out, and walked through the temple gates, but not before throwing one last jibe over his shoulder. "You know, you should really do something about that tick in your forehead, Monkey King, or you're going to get premature wrinkles." He snickered as the diva was left floundering, and moments later he could here him screeching "ORE-SAMA DO NOT HAVE _**WRINKLES**_!"

* * *

As Ryoma was mindlessly eating his takeout dinner that evening, he was both surprised and disgusted when his father informed him of a rather disconcerting fact.

"I was approached by some kid with an ego the size of Mt. Fuji today," he said casually, not even pausing in devouring his meal. "He said something about being Rinko's boss and wanted to help us with our case. Had some big shot lawyer lined up for us."

Ryoma sighed tiredly and set his chopsticks on the table, having suddenly lost his appetite. _Stupid monkey doesn't know when to give up,_ he though absently, resting his head next to his food.

"I told him to mind his own business and just exactly where he could put that fancy-shmancy lawyer of his."

_Thank goodness for small favors._

There were no more words for the next several minutes, but Nanjiroh eventually paused his feasting and hesitantly spoke again. "You know," he began, and Ryoma was slightly afraid of what was going to be said, for his father was never hesitant about anything, "I'm going to court later this week. I know it's really soon, especially since I haven't even filed my case yet, but apparently Rinko's convinced a judge to skip the mediation and clear a day on his schedule for us. But anyway, I don't know if you wanted to come to the trial or not, but I think that it's best if you don't. So... yeah."

Ryoma didn't even lift his head from the table to reply. "Yeah, whatever. I don't really care." That, of course, was a bold-faced lie. It seemed that these past few days his mother was the only thing that he could think about, no matter how he tried to distract himself. It would creep into his mind at the most inopportune moments, and everything around him only served to remind him of his troubles even more forcefully.

Nanjiroh did not call him on his fib, but he did bring up another topic that Ryoma would do almost anything to avoid. "We'll need to leave around noon tomorrow, so be sure to eat lunch early."

Ryoma groaned and covered his head with his arms. "Old man, I'm not going to see that quack tomorrow!"

He could hear the frown on his father's face as he admonished his son. "Kid, I really think that you should at least come and meet her with me. I mean it, Ryoma–hey, where are you going? Kiddo!"

Ryoma ignored the monk's calls as he trudged up the stairs and into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He bonelessly flopped face down onto his bed, slinging an arm around Karupin as he climbed next to him onto the bed, and went to sleep, fed up and determined to ignore his problems until the following morning.

* * *

Nanjiroh sighed as he cleared off the dinner table. Truth be told, he was more than a little nervous about the trial. If Rinko had been able to persuade a judge to forgo the mediation it was quite likely that she could influence his decision regarding custody of Ryoma. Nanjiroh could only hope that his bringing up the issue of child abuse would negate that bias. The Japanese valued their children as family heirs much more than Americans did, which was why child abuse so rarely occurred; not to say that it didn't occur at all, but it was much scarcer in Japan than it was in the Western countries. Unfortunately, the fact that he and his wife were divorcing pretty much made the heir thing null and void; it only counted for married couples.

Mybe he shouldn't have been so hasty in refusing Atobe's offer of assistance, but Nanjiroh hated owing anything to anyone, a trait which he had passed on to his son. Besides, if he couldn't protect his son on his own, then what kind of father was he?

Nanjiroh sighed again and scratched the top if his head, rubbing one foot along the opposite leg. This whole ordeal was much too troublesome and stressful for his liking. Maybe some of his precious magazines could help him relax...

* * *

Sunday passed with much door pounding, bribing, and pleading, but Nanjiroh eventually gave Ryoma up as a lost cause shortly before five o' clock that evening, leaving the boy to sulk behind his locked door. The next morning hailed the beginning of school without tennis practice, and Ryoma could not be more grateful for it; no more coddling, no more worried stares, and best of all no more demonic Inui Juices!

He arrived at his class just before the late bell rang, and he spent lunchtime hiding in the library in place of the rooftop, his usual haven, successfully avoiding the unwanted attention of his senpai-tachi from the tennis club. He sought refuge amongst the bookshelves once more when the students were permitted to leave for the day, and he finally left the grounds an hour later, highly satisfied with the day's work.

Once he had escaped the brick prison that is high school, Ryoma headed for the street courts, where he spent a solid two hours pounding tennis balls into the walls and ground before ultimately returning home. As he quietly stepped inside the residential part of the temple and toed off his shoes, though, he barely had time to call out a soft "I'm home" before being verbally assaulted by his father.

Nanjiroh raced into the entry way as soon as the door slid shut, arms crossed over his chest, a glare in his eyes, and looking for all the world like an angry housewife who had just learned that her husband was having an affair. "Where the hell have you been?!" he shouted, and Ryoma flinched and shrunk back a bit at the unexpected behavior from his laid-back dad. "School let out hours ago, and I know that you don't have tennis practice anymore!"

"I-I was at the street courts–"

"Then you should have called and told me! You have a cell phone; use it damn it! I even called up Tezuka-kun and Fuji-kun, only to find out that they hadn't seen you all day! I was just about to call the police!"

"I-I'm sorry, Dad! I'm sorry!" Ryoma had fallen against the wall, begging for forgiveness. He should have known that Nanjiroh would eventually realize that Rinko was right, that Ryoma was a waste of space, nothing but trouble, a monster that didn't deserve to live, but he had allowed himself to be fooled by the kind words, gestures, and reassurances he had recently made.

The boy stayed in his position for several long moments, eyes tightly closed, shaking slightly in fear of whatever his punishment would be, before he heard his father sigh in what he assumed to be disappointment. He felt the man bend down to kneel beside him and tensed in anticipation, but he started in surprise when a hand gently lay on his head and began petting his hair in a soothing motion. Ryoma remained as he was until his father moved his hands onto his shoulders, sat him up, and then placed one hand under his chin to gently lift his head in an attempt to catch his gaze, but the boy kept his eyes averted until Nanjiroh gently admonished, "Ryoma, look at me."

Ryoma hesitantly stared directly into his father's eyes and was shocked to find not righteous fury but sadness and an apology in them. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Nanjiroh sighed once more.

"I'm not angry with you, Ryoma," he told him. The adolescent felt a response form on his lips, that he _should_ be angry with him, that he didn't deserve forgiveness, that he had every right to get rid of him and be done with it, but the man continued before he could voice his thoughts.

"I was _worried_," he elaborated. "I thought that something bad had happened to you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. But please call me and let me know where you are if you're going to be home late, okay?" Ryoma nodded, and Nanjiroh enveloped him in a sudden hug.

The father and son sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes after Nanjiroh pulled away. Finally, Ryoma broke the quiet and said, "Um, I'm going to get a bath, it that's alright, Dad."

His father's face drooped a little at the title, but he nodded and said, "Go ahead. I'll have dinner ready when you're done." He paused before adding, "I still want you, you know. You're my son, and no matter what you do, I'll never stop wanting you."

Ryoma headed up the stairs and into the bathroom, dropping his sweaty clothes on the floor before sinking into the hot water once the bathtub was filled. He allowed himself to relax at last, but he knew that it was going to take a long time for him to stop believing everything that his mother had said about him... if he ever did at all.

* * *

Nanjiroh sighed as he pulled out two packets of ramen, setting a pot of water to boil on the stove. He really needed to go shopping while Ryoma was in school tomorrow, and learning how to cook probably wouldn't hurt. Nanako-chan and Rinko always did that kind of thing. _And speaking of Rinko,_ he scowled, _I really have a bone to pick with that woman. She completely screwed over our son. I hope she..._

At that moment the pot boiled over, and Nanjiroh began muttering profanities under his breath the likes of which were not fit for human ears, though whether it was due to the mess or his rage at his wife he was uncertain.

* * *

School the next day was a repeat of the previous one, although Ryoma was asked to stay after classes in order to tutor Ryuuzaki Sakuno in English. Normally he would have complained before grudgingly accepting his duty as the most advanced English speaker in the school–including the teacher–but as he would have been skulking in the library anyway, he didn't kick up a fuss about it, although he was sure to phone home to inform his dad that he would be at the school until further notice and that he would call again when he was leaving. At the moment, though, he really was regretting not refusing when he'd had the chance.

Ryoma sighed, leaning back in his chair as he massaged his temples with one hand. "We've been at this for nearly _two hours_, Ryuuzaki. It's really not that difficult.

The auburn haired girl chewed guiltily on her eraser. "I'm sorry, Ryoma-kun!" she cried, frustrated nearly to the point of tears. "If you could just explain it one more time, maybe...?"

Ryoma let out another long-suffering sigh and pointed to one of the books lying open on the table between them. "**Who** is used in the _subject_ of a sentence or phrase, which means that there is a verb following it. **Whom** is used in the _object_ of a sentence or phrase, which means that there is _no_ verb following it."

"So," Ryuuzaki slowly said, "number eight would be **The winner was the girl **_**who**_** painted the portrait**?"

"Yes!''

The girl smiled brightly at her tutor and wrote the answer in her notebook. "I think I'm getting the hang of it! Thanks Ryoma-kun!" She hummed happily as she continued working on the assigned problems. After a few minutes, though, she quieted and paused in her furious scribbling. "Um, Ryoma-kun," she began hesitantly, not looking away from her homework, and the boy in question turned to her.

"What?" he asked, intense golden eyes staring at the top of her head. "Do you have another question?"

"No, I just," she said, and Ryuuzaki blushed in embarrassment, "I just wanted to know if everything is all right with you."

Ryoma's eyes blazed, and he scowled. _It figures,_ he thought, _that no matter _what_ I do, I can't get away from stupid overprotective worrywarts._ "_Yes_," he hissed irritatedly. "You can tell senpai-tachi that I'm _fine_."

Ryuuzaki's face reddened even more, but she glanced up on his, giving him a confused expression. "Wh-why would I tell that to senpai-tachi?" she questioned.

Ryoma rolled his eyes in annoyance and turned away from the girl. "Because I know they put you up to this," he explained.

Realization dawned on her countenance, and she set down her pencil in order to fully plead her case. "But they didn't, Ryoma-kun," she insisted. "I know that they've been worried about you, because yesterday Fuji-senpai and Tezuka-senpai came looking for you during lunch, and today Eiji-senpai and Momo-chan-senpai came, but they left when they saw that you weren't there.

"And I know that Grandma's been worried, too, but she won't tell me why. But you haven't been acting like yourself lately, Ryoma-kun, and I tried talking to Tomo-chan but she didn't know what I was talking about, so I thought that maybe I should just ask you and if you needed to talk about anything you could, I mean, you don't have to, but I though I'd let you know that if you wanted to then I would listen and–"

Ryoma interrupted the girl, who had not yet realized that she was rambling (_How can still still be breathing?_ he idly wondered). "I'm fine," he repeated, then continued, a bit confused, "but if senpai-tachi didn't put you up to it, then why do you even care?"

Ryuuzaki blushed to the tips of her ears this time, but she looked down shyly and twiddled her thumbs, saying, "Well, Ryoma-kun, you're my friend. I-I," here, her face began to darken into a purplish shade, "I c-care about you, and I'd be really upset if anything bad ever happened to you."

Ryoma continued to stare at her, perplexed, as she resumed working on her English assignment. Ryuuzaki... cared about him? But why? Sure, he gave her tips on improving her tennis, but her grandmother was a coach; she made a living helping people get better at the game. He was helping her learn English, but he wasn't doing anything that a teacher or even another tutor couldn't. Still, she told him that she would be sad if anything bad happened to him...

Half an hour later the duo was leaving the library. They parted at the front gates, but before he left, Ryoma called out to the girl. "Hey, Ryuuzaki," he said, pulling his cap over his face, "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, either." He heard her gasp and saw her flush happily but left before she could respond.

_Che,_ he thought as he dialed his home phone number, _since when am I so sentimental? Stupid senpai-tachi must be rubbing off on me..._

* * *

Nanjiroh pulled at his collar, loosening the tie that uncomfortably encircled his neck. He absolutely _hated_ suits; they were stiff and itchy and were way too close to the sportsman's skin for his liking. Unfortunately making a good impression was extremely important, and he needed all the help he could get. The judge that would be deciding the fate of him, his wife, and his son would be entering the room at any moment, and for all Nanjiroh knew the man had already made his decision.

Ryoma was at school, probably sleeping through his English lesson at that very moment, and that was exactly where Nanjiroh wanted him to be - as far away from Rinko as humanly possible. Tezuka and Fuji had strict orders to keep a close eye on him all day and for one of the two to drag the boy home with him and keep him there until Nanjiroh himself came for him by any means necessary. He wasn't taking any chances. Even if he won full custody, the judge's ruling would mean less than nothing if Rinko got her hands on Ryoma and disappeared with him.

The woman in question was currently sitting next to him, but both he and she were doing their best to ignore the other's presence. She had papers laid out on the table, and Nanjiroh couldn't help but feel that they would be nothing but trouble for him. He didn't have long to contemplate this, however, for the judge walked into the room and settled across from the couple.

He was a middle-aged man with average height and weight and slightly graying hair. He gave Rinko a nod of recognition as he sat but otherwise made no friendly gesture to the lawyer. "I am Judge Ariyashi," he introduced, "and I will be deciding whether or not your relationship merits a divorce and, if it does, to whom custody of Echizen Ryoma will be given."

Nanjiroh frowned slightly at his words as a question was raised in his mind. "But, Ariyashi-san," he voiced, "we both are in agreement that we want a divorce. Shouldn't this case just be about custody?"

Ariyashi shook his head negatively. "Once a divorce case is brought to trial, all decisions are made by the presiding judge regardless of the participants' opinions. This is because the couple has been unable to compromise and make the decision for themselves, so instead it is made for them."

Nanjiroh deflated a bit. He hadn't realized that, by taking Rinko to court, there was a chance that their right to a divorce would be denied. He could only hope that the abuse charges would put the judge in favor of approving the divorce.

"Now," Ariyashi continued, "we will begin by having you each tell me why you believe you do or do not deserve having a divorce and, if a divorce would be granted, to whom you believe custody should go and why.

"Rinko-san, would you start, please?"

The woman nodded and sat straighter in her seat. "I initially did not want a divorce, but I have come to realize that our differences are too great for us to continue on with our relationship. As proof of this, I am going to tell you something that is a bit embarrassing for me." She paused, her face gaining a pinkish tinge, and Ariyashi nodded encouragingly to her. "Nanjiroh and I..." She coughed slightly, clearing her throat. "We haven't had sex in nearly six months."

Here Ariyashi interrupted before Rinko could continue. "And is there a reason for this, Rinko-san?" he queried.

"Yes," she elaborated, "Nanjiroh refused me every time I came to him."

Nanjiroh reddened angrily at this statement, but he could not deny it. Even so, both members of the quarreling couple were at fault, not only he himself. While it was true that he had denied Rinko each time she came to him after he learned of her actions toward Ryoma (he had felt as if he no longer knew his own wife and was uncomfortable at the thought of having sex with her), he had overcome this when things appeared to be returning to normal.

In addition, there had been many times when Nanjiroh had gone after Rinko and _she_ had refused _him_, claiming that she was too tired or not in the mood because of work. He opened his mouth to explain this, but he was stilled by the judge. "You will have your turn, Nanjiroh-san, and you can defend yourself then," he told him. Nanjiroh scowled but slouched in grudging acceptance.

"At any rate," Rinko continued, stubbornly ignoring her husband's reactions, "I'm ready to accept a divorce, but if it _is_ granted I want full custody of my son. As much as it pains me to say this," (Nanjiroh barely suppressed a snort) "Nanjiroh really is unfit to care for a child."

She pushed forward the documents in front of her and began pointing things out as she explained them. "As you can see, Nanjiroh has not worked at all since he quit the professional tennis circuit nearly fifteen years ago, and he has no education past high school. He spends his days lazing around reading porn magazines, occasionally following around our son or playing a tennis match, and he has no domestic skills whatsoever. He is not qualified for the responsibility that comes with raising a son."

She relaxed in her chair, signaling that she was finished, but left the papers for Ariyashi to peruse. The judge spent the next few minutes reading whatever was written, but he soon set them aside and gestured for Nanjiroh to speak.

Nanjiroh nodded jerkily and began his rebuttal. "First, let me just say that I'm not the only one who's been refusing to have sex." He leveled a glare at Rinko, who merely sniffed disdainfully. He was not giving up without a fight.

"The reason I want a divorce is the same reason that she _cannot_ have custody of Ryoma no matter what. Rinko has been abusing my son."

Ariyashi raised an eyebrow in interest and leaned forward slightly, wanting to hear the entire story. And so Nanjiroh began to tell this complete stranger everything that had gone wrong in his life. He told him of when he first discovered that his wife had been both physically and verbally abusing their son. He told him of how she had promised to stop and he had foolishly believed her. He told him of how less than a week ago he had found Rinko attempting to kill the boy, and he told him of how the next day Ryoma had attempted to kill himself. Finally he slumped in his chair, suddenly both mentally and physically exhausted.

Rinko didn't even blink. "Obviously he is lying because he wishes to separate me from my son." She sighed and turned a heavyhearted face to her husband. "Do you truly despise me so, Nanjiroh-koi?"

Nanjiroh said nothing.

Ariyashi straightened, and the married couple redirected their attention to focus on the judge. He cleared his throat and declared his verdict. "I have no problem with declaring your marriage to be annulled. Both partners have been denying sex, which pretty much makes the wedding a moot point.

"As for the matter of child custody, I have decided that at this moment I am unable to ascertain which course of action will be best for the child in question. As such, there will be a one month trial period of full custody with no visitation rights for each parent, beginning with Takeuchi-san.

"Echizen-san, if you are unable to obtain a job with a steady income before Takeuchi-san's month is up then full custody will be awarded to Takeuchi-san." He saw Nanjiroh open his mouth to protest but continued before he could comment. "Unfortunately, Echizen-san, you have no evidence to back up your claim of child abuse, which means that I must discard it.

"However, at the end of the two months there will be a revisitation of this case, at which point I will request Ryoma-san's presence. I will then make my decision based on the information I gain from his school's home visits and Ryoma-san's testimony. Echizen-san, if you wish to continue your claim of child abuse, I must insist that you either have evidence or are able to convince Ryoma-san to testify against Takeuchi-san.

"Case dismissed."

* * *

Atobe Keigo frowned at the words in front of him. This would not do at all. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and resolved that the Echizens would have his assistance, whether they wanted it or not.

* * *

Ryoma was sitting at Fuji's desk doing his homework when the doorbell rang. He didn't look up as he heard his senpai's older sister (he thought her name was Yumiko, or something like that) descend the stairs and answer the front door. He gathered his things when she told him that his father was there and it was time for him to leave, ignoring Fuji as the older boy shadowed him. As he reached the doorway he felt his stomach drop and twist violently at the sight of the monk's solemn expression. Suddenly his mouth went dry, and all of his irritation at the people around him evaporated. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

The short car ride home was silent and tense. Neither father nor son spoke as they stepped out of the vehicle and entered the temple grounds which were darkened by the night. As they went into the house Ryoma moved to head to his bedroom but was stilled by a light hand on his shoulder. He paused and stiffened, waiting anxiously for his father to speak.

"Pack your things," he said simply. "Your mother will be picking you up from school tomorrow to take you home with her." He removed his hand, and Ryoma listened to him walk into the kitchen, rummage through the refrigerator and crack open a beer before resuming the climb to his room.

He had known that it wouldn't last. He had known that things would eventually return to normal. He had known, and yet he had still allowed himself to hope that they would stay as they were.

His hope was dead.

After all, he didn't even deserve to have hope.

* * *

Echizen- no, _Takeuchi_ Rinko, she reminded herself - smiled as she settled into her bed for the night. _I won't be Takeuchi Rinko for long,_ she told herself. _Soon that demon will be gone, and with it its hold on Nanji-chan. _She turned on her side to the empty space before her, imagining her love's smiling face. _And them Nanji-chan will be here beside me, where he belongs..._

* * *

AN: Ooh... ominous ending. Come on, you didn't really think that Rinko would make things _easy_ for our boys, did you?

I researched divorce proceedings in Japan as best I could. I hope that I was able to represent them well enough. Everything said about divorces and child abuse in Japan is, from what I can find, actual fact. The links to where I got my information are in my bio. If anything is wrong, please let me know! Same goes for child custody, which will have a much larger part in this story starting now.

I really hope that I'm conveying the different things Ryoma's feeling and how he's trying to sort out and deal with everything. He's going through something that's extremely traumatic, so he may be feeling one thing but trying to ignore it, or he may have sudden mood swings or feel different things at different times. Please let me know if I'm showing this properly.

Please let me know what you all think of this chapter. It took me a long time to work it all out, so I'm really looking forward to reading your thoughts on it.

-Sugarpony

_Chapter Completed: 4/29/08, 2:07 AM_

**First Edit: 1/24/13**


	6. There's a neat little clock

AN: It's ALIVE!

I am so so _so_ sorry that it has taken such an obscene amount of time for me to write this chapter! It's such a huge part of the story, and I didn't want to let it go until it was just perfect. (Really, it could probably use some work still, but I think we've all waited long enough.) I spent months on each scene, trying to get everything just right. So I hope you all enjoy it.

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's _Changechildren_.

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, OOC.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Six

* * *

_There's a neat little clock,_

_In the school room it stands,_

_And it points to the time_

_With its two little hands._

_And may we, like the clock,_

_Keep a face clean and bright,_

_With hands ever ready_

_To do what is right._

-"There's a Neat Little Clock," a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

Kawamura Takashi arose early Thursday morning. Echizen-kun had been rather preoccupied lately, and for good reason. He had been avoiding his senpai-tachi, and Takashi respected him by not actively searching for him with Eiji-kun and Momo-kun. He knew that his kouhai had a lot of baggage to sort through, and he was willing to give him the space he needed.

Still, he wanted to make sure that Echizen-kun was taking care of himself, and he knew for a fact that the boy had been skipping lunch every day so far this week. As such, Takashi had resolved to prepare a bento of Echizen's favorite sushi for that afternoon.

Most people believed that the boy was an arrogant brat, but he knew better. Echizen was a real sportsman; he hated people who tried to cheat or injure opponents, and he had real respect for those with a high level of skill or talent. He supported his team in his own way, and he truly cared for his friends. Echizen may have had trouble expression his emotions, but that didn't mean that he was completely devoid of them. All in all, he really was a good kid.

As he began to pull out the ingredients, Takashi couldn't help but wonder what in the world could turn a person into someone who could derive pleasure from inflicting pain upon others. Was there some kind of horrible event that could change one's entire outlook on life? Did certain people spend their entire lives slowly drifting into insanity? Or was it possible that every now and again a person was born truly evil?

Takashi shook his head, clearing it of these depressing thoughts. The aspiring sushi chef needed all his concentration in order of prepare the best lunch that Echizen-kun would ever eat.

* * *

Kaidoh Kaoru was running his morning fifteen kilometer marathon. Even though the tennis season was over for the year, he could not afford to slack off when it came to his training; if he didn't keep in shape, how could he expect to lead Seigaku's tennis team back to the Nationals, especially with the current third years having graduated by then? That idiot Momoshiri could laze around like a vegetable all he wanted, but Kaoru was going to keep working hard.

Now Echizen? _There_ was someone he could respect. When it came to tennis that kid was okay in Kaoru's book. Not only was he a great player (he had to be, to have defeated Kaoru himself), but he was stubborn as hell to boot. Honestly, it was saddening when it came to how many kids these days refused to put in a good day's work to get better at something they liked.

So what in the world did Echizen's mother have against him?

Kaoru sped up his pace as he let out a frustrated breath. He knew that it was Echizen's problem and he shouldn't get involved, but it was hard for him to not take it personally. The two of them were too much alike! They both worked hard at improving their tennis skills; they both had trouble showing their feelings to others; for goodness' sakes, the boy even had a cat, something that Kaoru had always wanted!

Now Kaoru was rather old-fashioned when it concerned respecting his elders; in fact it took quite a bit for him to disobey anyone older than he. Despite this, there was very little that Echizen Rinko could do in order to redeem herself in his eyes. As far as he was concerned, anyone who would willingly harm her own flesh and blood did not deserve even the smallest shred of respect.

He could only hope that Echizen was strong enough to make it through his ordeal.

* * *

Inui Sadaharu was an exceedingly analytical young man. He looked at the world around him in only the most scientific perspective, and he studiously recorded everything he learned in his various notebooks. For him data tennis was not merely a style of play; it was a way of life. But in all of his data gathering, not once did he ever believe that one of his teammates would become a mere statistic of one of the bleaker aspects of reality.

Perhaps it was merely wishful thinking. He knew that it was only logical that a certain percentage of members of the tennis club would be inflicted with a harmful home life, and it was an eventuality that one of these boys would become a regular player. But for that person to be someone so close to him... Well, of course no one would want to think of it as a truth.

Maybe that was why he had overlooked something that was now blatantly obvious. He was too close to the equation, and so he was unable to acknowledge the facts because of his perspective. But when he had been faced with that suicide note of Echizen's last week, that had certainly forced things back into a place from which he could observe and make critical deductions.

So just exactly what deductions had he made?

Firstly, Echizen was being both physically and mentally abused by his mother. The marks on his body that he had hidden by being last to change in the locker room and for which he had continually made excuses was physical proof of the former, and his slow but steady shift in personality was clear evidence of the latter.

Secondly, Echizen's faith in his friends was currently almost nonexistent. Any and all physical contact was avoided because it could hurt him. All orders were followed quickly, efficiently, and without complaint. He did not speak unless spoken to, and he did his very best to fade into the background as much as possible. And he believed that if he made one wrong move, if he took one false step, everything would fall apart and even his beloved tennis courts would no longer be safe.

Thirdly, Echizen would in all likelihood be placed with his mother by the courts. There was no way to prove that Rinko had ever laid a hand on her son; for all the mediator knew, _Nanjiroh_ was an abusive parent. That matter set aside, Rinko was a well-paid lawyer, and Nanjiroh was a retired professional tennis player turned faux-monk. Even if by some chance the courts were not more likely to sympathize with a mother than a father, Rinko was obviously more capable of supporting herself and her son than her former husband.

So what did this evidence lead to? If allowed to follow its natural course, nothing good, that much was certain. But if a catalyst was introduced... Well, then there would be an entirely new set of data to consider.

But _should_ a catalyst be introduced? Really, what happened to Echizen outside of the tennis club was none of Inui's business. The two of them were not friends, merely teammates–and _former_ teammates at that. Echizen was a private person, and Inui was fairly certain that he would definitely not appreciate the data collector poking into his business any more than he already did on a regular basis.

...But then, how would he know the difference? No one, not even Renji, had ever seen the inside of Sadaharu's many notebooks, and he was not planning on changing this fact any time in the near (or far, for that matter) future.

And after all, senpai really should take care of their kouhai...

* * *

Oishi Shuichirou called the student council meeting to a close and allowed himself to relax with a sigh. He had been distracted all morning; really, who wouldn't be in his position?

Shuichirou was used to being at least somewhat in control of his surroundings. And if someone needed help, he did his best to give it to them in whatever form they would accept it. But this... What could he do?

Echizen was in a position where a mere high school student could be of no help to him. After all, what could he do to stop a mother's abuse of her son? He was not a police officer, he was not a judge, he wasn't even a lawyer. He didn't come from an influential family, and nor did his family have an excess of money. He was a simple high school student who played tennis.

Logically, there would need to be evidence of abuse in order for any action to be taken against the Echizen matriarch. That evidence would need to be found and documented by either a psychologist or a physician.

But he couldn't just do _nothing_!

Echizen was his kouhai, his teammate, and, most importantly, his friend. Sure, he was a bit standoffish, but that was just because he wasn't good at expressing himself except through his tennis. Tezuka was the same, and he was Shuichirou's best friend.

Echizen was a good kid who was confident and and happy with who he was.

Or at least he had been.

Shuichirou had noticed a change in his kouhai when he first returned from America. He was less confident and assured of himself and even more reserved than he had been. Shuichirou had chalked it up to puberty and a growing maturity.

Soon enough everyone had fallen into the usual routine from junior high school, and it was as if he had never even left. Momo and Eiji dragged Echizen off for burgers several days a week, Taka-san's father closed their family sushi restaurant and treated them to all-you-can-eat after every tournament, Kaidoh forced everyone to run all around the courts with his Snake Shots, and Inui did his best to gather data by using the tennis club as test subjects for his strange juices. Even Tezuka and Fuji, who had become close friends since their long awaited tennis match their senior year of junior high, seemed to have grown rather fond of their little first-year (and little he was, for although he had managed to gain several centimeters since they had last seen him, he still remained the shortest member of their surrogate family).

Had they really not noticed? In hindsight it was shockingly obvious that something was wrong with their kouhai. It shamed Shuichirou that they had allowed this to go on for so long. The regulars were so close to one another that they were practically family! Echizen was the bratty little kid brother that was still so sweet and adorable that you just _had_ to love him, everyone knew that!

Yes, they were family. And as cliché as it was, family stuck together, no matter what. There had to be _something_ he could do to help! Family...

Family!

Perhaps it was time for Shuichirou to pay a visit to his uncle. He nodded determinedly. Yes, that was exactly what he would do!

_No matter what..._

* * *

Kikumaru Eiji was, for the umpteenth time in the past week, staring absently out the window. Even though his class was currently studying Japanese History, his favorite subject, for some reason he found himself unable to concentrate on his schoolwork. And really, that was no surprise. After all, anyone who could focus on school while his kouhai and friend was trapped in an abusive home had a heart of stone.

That wasn't Eiji's opinion. That was a fact.

It seemed that all Eiji did lately was worry and mope around. He tried to remain his positive, happy-go-lucky, not a care in the world self, but it was hard. His friends and family all knew that something was wrong, even those who didn't know what it was.

Eiji came from a big family, and he loved it. There was always somebody there for him when he needed help or just some company, and being the youngest he was babied to death. The best part was that if he was going through something, there was anywhere from four to eight people who had been in the exact same place as he. Of course there were times when he hated living with so many people and felt like he would do anything to be an only child, but in reality he wouldn't trade anything in the world for his family.

And that included his friends, too. While he enjoyed being babied by his family, he also absolutely loved being able to baby his kouhai. He loved teasing Kaidoh and Momo and seeing them blush, and he loved picking on Ochibi and getting that cute little glare in return. He also loved being around and relating to people his own age for a change, especially Oishii. He and Oishii connected on a level that was beyond friends. He was his _aibou_, his partner, and he could rely on him for everything.

Except this. This was so huge that even Oishii didn't know what to do.

So how could Eiji?

Ochibi didn't come from a big family like Eiji did. Ochibi had a father who was a retired tennis player and an abusive mother. Oh, and a weird older brother who hadn't even lived with them for, what, ten years? At least? He didn't have anyone at home that he could really rely on. And he was constantly distancing himself from everyone here at school. He needed someone he could count on, but he was almost always alone.

It made Eiji want to cry.

This wasn't something that he could easily overcome like losing a tennis match or failing a test or even getting kicked out of the regular line up. If he was left alone things would only get worse. And considering how bad things already were, remembering what had already almost happened, he really didn't want to see what "worse" would be. He _needed_ help, even if he thought that he didn't deserve it.

And Eiji would be there to give it to him in whatever way he could. He had to think positively. He _would_ be able to help Ochibi! Even if it was just by helping him take his mind off things for a short while.

He smiled to himself and turned back to the lesson on the chalkboard.

* * *

Momoshiro Takeshi hummed to himself as he strolled down the school hallways. It was lunch break, and Momo was planning on snitching as much as he possibly could from the bento box full of homemade sushi Taka-san had given to him to pass along to Ryoma. It had been a while since he'd been able to have lunch with his kouhai without any of their senpai hanging around, and he was going to take advantage of the fact that Fuji-senpai wouldn't be there to prevent him from ritualistically accosting Ryoma's food.

After all, hadn't Ryuuzaki-sensei explicitly instructed them to treat him normally? Like he _wasn't_ a fragile piece of glass that was about to break? Like they still had no idea that he was being abused by his mother? That he had at least planned to commit suicide?

...Maybe this would be harder that he thought.

But dammit, he would do it! After all, Ryoma was his best friend! Momo chuckled, thinking back to when they'd first met. They hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot, but after their first eating contest (How the hell did that little guy put away so many burgers, anyway? He couldn't have been more than five feet tall back then!) and their embarrassing attempt at playing as a doubles team, they had forged an unbreakable bond.

Or so Momo had thought. Because then Ryoma had gone and moved to America. And even though they had exchanged emails, and even though they seemed to slip right back into their regular routine when he had returned that past spring, something had changed. Ryoma had slowly began to distance himself, not loosening up around Momo as he had used to, and Momo hadn't noticed that something was seriously wrong with his friend.

And that was what killed him. He hadn't even _noticed_ as his _best friend_ fell into a perpetual state of depression and apathy and self-loathing, hadn't even _noticed_ that he'd somehow become _suicidal_!

Well, that was going to change now. Maybe he hadn't been paying attention, or maybe he _had_ noticed something and just ignored it or put it aside as something that it wasn't, but he _was_ paying attention now.

And he was going to make things right again.

He was going to get his best friend back, no matter how long it took.

_Whatever_ it took.

* * *

Fuji Syuusuke was not a complicated person. He had a mom, a dad, an older sister, a younger brother, and a pet cactus. He had friends at school, the closest of which he had met through the tennis club. He liked to tease his friends. He liked to take pictures. And, oh yes, he was very good at tennis.

Syuusuke was normally a happy person. He enjoyed playing tennis and spending time with friends, he enjoyed watching others having fun or being in discomfort (as long as it was well-meant, of course; it must have been the older brother in him, since their reactions were usually similar to Yuuta's whenever Syuusuke was around), and he took many things in stride. He didn't really mind when someone spread rumors about him or tried to trip him in the hallways or even vandalized his locker out of jealousy. It was annoying, certainly, but getting mad about it wouldn't solve anything; there were a lot of jerks in the world.

But when someone targeted a person that Syuusuke cared about, that was when he got angry.

And when Syuusuke got angry, he got even.

And right now, Syuusuke was _very_ angry.

He had been extremely happy when Ryoma-chan had returned from America to rejoin his friends at the tennis club and once again lead Seigaku to conquer the Nationals. His kouhai was cocky, but in a cute way, and he certainly had the skills to back up his mouth. He was a bit oblivious, but he also had his compassionate moments when he helped his friends through a tough match or stopped older players from bullying some amateurs by completely destroying them in a match. He was a good kid, and his adorable looks made Syuusuke think of him as even more of a younger brother than any of his other kouhai.

Ever since then, he'd been making an effort to be a close friend to Ryoma-chan rather than just a senpai. It took a lot of time and patience for his kouhai was naturally introverted, but it hadn't been any more difficult than breaking through the infamous Tezuka Kunimitsu's prickly exterior.

But now, after finally getting closer to him, Ryoma-chan was pulling away, trying to put as much distance between himself and other people as possible. And really, Syuusuke understood why. The younger boy had been betrayed in the worst possible way by one of the two people to whom he exposed himself and trusted the most for his entire life. He didn't want to let anyone else have the opportunity to hurt him in the same way. And a part of him truly believed the words that his mother had been imprinting upon his mind for more than a year, that he was only good for tennis and was otherwise a burden to everyone around him.

Echizen Ryoma had been completely and utterly shattered, maybe even beyond complete repair. And that was unforgivable. That it was the boy's own _mother_ who had committed this sin was even more unforgivable. No one messed with Syuusuke's precious people.

_No one_.

Unfortunately, there was very little that Syuusuke himself could do in the way of retribution. He would like nothing more than to force Takeuchi Rinko to suffer through all the pain she had put her son through and more, but that wasn't within his capabilities at the moment. Taking physical action against her was out of the question, and there wasn't much he could do to help with getting her put in prison for her crimes. He couldn't even keep her away from Ryoma-chan.

Syuusuke was a tensai of tennis, but his skills at the sport had very little practicality outside of a tennis court. And as he was still only in high school, he was pretty much helpless in this situation. And he hated it more than anything else.

So for now, he would just try to be there for Ryoma-chan. To help him understand that nothing his mother had told him was true, that he had friends who cared about him. To give him something constant in the many changes his family was going through. To give him a shoulder to cry on, if it came to that. To help him forget his troubles, if only for a moment. He had been Seigaku's pillar of support for so long, and now he needed one for himself.

Except he didn't have only one; he had eight.

* * *

Tezuka Kunimitsu was admired, respected, and even somewhat feared by many people. He was often mistaken for an adult because of his serious and responsible nature. He was a man of few words, but a few words were usually all he needed in order to accomplish whatever his goal may be, whether it was to inspire or to subdue.

Many would consider him an accomplished young man, the ideal Japanese teenager; he was respectful, studious, athletic, and dependable. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, Kunimitsu had few friends. He somehow caused others to distance themselves from him. Others saw themselves as either above or below him, but rarely on the same level. So he cherished the few that chose to remain _with_ him instead of _in front of_ or _behind_ him.

Yukimura. Atobe. Inui. Oishi. Syuusuke. Ryoma.

It was a short list. They were the few who saw him as a regular person, not a giant of the tennis world or a snobbish geek. They understood him, saw beneath the stoic exterior that he really was just another teenager, with feelings and problems and worries and hopes and dreams. They knew that he had difficulties expressing himself sometimes because he was raised in an extremely traditional household and took his small words and gestures for what they were.

And he was truly thankful for it.

So he did all he could to help the people he was close to, the people who understood him and the ones who tried their best but could never really lose their preconceptions of him. He took care of his team members, the ones who had stood beside him as first years when their senpai had disgraced him. The ones who never ridiculed but fully embraced his grand dream. The ones who had supported him when he had needed to leave them in order to take care of himself. The ones who crossed two continents to visit him and raise his spirits by showing him that he was not forgotten. The ones who had twice taken the journey to conquer the National Tennis Championship Tournament with him.

He knew that they could not be with him forever. This was proven when he had been in another country for much of the tennis season in his third year of junior high school. So when a first year, brash and cocky and flippant yet fearless and full of potential for grand dreams made a startling entrance in Seishun Junior High, he had slowly passed on the responsibility of supporting and keeping together the group for which he cared. And he had not been disappointed.

But now, he was needed once again. That same boy who had become what his friends had needed was lost in a dark place, frightened and lonely. And he could not escape without help.

But he _wasn't_ alone, and Kunimitsu would do everything in his power to help him realize this. So he would stand by, ready and reassuringly, to help him stand up and walk into the light once more.

* * *

For Atobe Keigo it was a matter of pride. Keigo had been eternally surprised when Tezuka had come to him for a favor more than three years ago, but out of respect for his rival he did not decline his request. So he had approached Seigaku when Tezuka was recovering from his injuries and helped to strengthen his team, particularly Echizen Ryoma.

Echizen Ryoma was quite possibly the most stubborn, cocky, childishly insulting person he had ever encountered. But all faults aside, the boy did amazing things on a tennis court. He had been impressed by the brat when their teams had competed in the Kantou Tournament and again when he had played him on Tezuka's behalf. But when he had actually _defeated_ Keigo in the National Tournament, followed by his triumph over _Yukimura_... Suffice it to say that he knew Echizen Ryoma would make big waves when he finally fully entered the professional world of tennis as opposed to competing in only one major tournament.

As a result the Samurai Jr. had Keigo's grudging respect.

Keigo had been intrigued by the boy. He had discretely had the young tennis player investigated when Tezuka had given him his request, and he had been pleased at what he had found. He had lived most most of his life in his family's Floridian home. He was the younger son of the world famous tennis player Samurai Nanjiroh, who had vanished from the public eye just as he had been about to obtain a Grand Slam title, and a half-Japanese lawyer from America, his social breeding and upbringing was certainly satisfactory if a bit unorthodox. He _did_ have a repertoire of social graces, he simply chose not to use it in situations in which it would not be imprudent to do so. He was an above average student, and he spent most of his free time playing tennis, sleeping, or spoiling his spotted Himalayan cat, Karupin.

None of the digging that had been done had uncovered anything which would cause alarm.

Until now.

Domestic disputes were not uncommon, especially in American families. Sometimes there were no warning signs, especially none that were visible to an outsider. But dammit, someone should have noticed that the boy was being physically and mentally abused–and by his own mother, no less! A woman working for _his family's_ company had been slowly destroying her legitimate heir for _months_! Why were commoners so completely _imbecilic_ at times?

Luckily, the Atobe patriarch had given permission for his son to handle the issue himself. Keigo had been taking on a more active role in his family's companies as of late, as he was in his final year of high school. Once he graduated he would attend a university specializing in corporate business before slowly taking control of his family's assets. He would only be named the primary heir, however, once he had proven himself capable many times over. Settling this dispute in a way befitting of the Atobe family would be one of the numerous tests he needed to pass.

So he would provide the abhorred woman with all benefits promised by Atobe Enterprises, supporting his employee on the surface while subtly dropping hints of the woman's guilt and doing everything in his power to make sure that she served the maximum punishment for her actions and that her reputation was completely annihilated in the process. It was a difficult, complicated game of playing many different parts at once, but it would be an everyday part of his world should he inherit his family's fortunes.

Keigo would keep his word to Tezuka to help the man's successor reach new heights. He would protect his family's and his company's reputation.

And he would make certain that a good person was not completely shattered before he had the chance to give the world everything he could.

So for Atobe Keigo it was a matter of pride.

Mostly.

* * *

Rinko hummed softly to herself as she drove toward Seigaku High School. Today was the day everything changed. Nanji-chan hadn't been at the house when she had stopped by to pick up the demon's things, but now that he was going to be free from the demon's presence, he would start getting better.

He would start playing professional tennis again.

He would want to look at his wife instead of his dirty magazines.

He would remember how good it felt to be free from the responsibility of taking care of someone other than himself or his wife.

He would start to love her again.

_After this is all over, he's going to love me again..._

Rinko's heart soared.

* * *

Nanjiroh was at a local tennis club, practicing against a ball machine on its highest setting. He hadn't stepped inside his house since his son had left for school that morning, not wanting to be around when Rinko picked up Ryoma's belongings. And besides, he needed to start seriously practicing again anyway. Tennis was his only skill, and he needed to find a job. This was made even more difficult by the fact that the man only ever been serious about two things in his entire life.

First was tennis. He loved it so much that instead of studying, all he would do was practice on the street courts. Luckily, he had been talented and skillful enough to make a living by playing the sport professionally.

Second was his family. He had loved Rinko with all his heart when they were married, and they had been blessed with a beautiful son. They had been surprised to learn that Nanjiroh also had a son from before his marriage, but he had gladly taken responsibility for his actions, and Rinko was happy to have the typical American family.

Then Ryoga had been taken away by his mother's family. And they were lonely without their new son, so while Rinko buried herself in her work, Nanjiroh put all his time and affection into Ryoma. But then Ryoma had started to turn into a moody teenager, and suddenly playing tennis with and being teased by his old man was annoying and embarrassing. And suddenly Nanjiroh found himself alone in an empty house most of the time, with nothing to do but read magazines.

And now, when his son needed him most, Nanjiroh could do nothing to help him.

_I have to do everything I possibly can to get Ryoma back,_ he thought, pausing to towel the sweat off his forehead and rehydrate himself._ Even if that means I have to take care of myself first._

And he once again returned to the machine, never forgetting his purpose in the repetitive rhythm of hitting the balls one after another.

* * *

Ryoma stood silently as a gray car drew nearer to the school gates. He had staved off the company of his classmates and senpai, although he had had to promise to call Fuji-senpai later that evening in order to convince him to go home without him.

None of his senpai had asked him how the court case had gone, and he was grateful for it. There was no need to cause them unnecessary worries or stress. Things would be better for them when he was gone, and it would be easier for him to leave without having to say goodbye.

Ryoma's mother stepped out of the car and wrapped and arm around her son, a deceivingly sweet smile on her face. He knew better than to accept her expression at face value, though, for she discretely dug her fingernails into his arms and squeezed his shoulders tightly enough for him to need to hide a wince as she ushered him into the back of the vehicle.

As he watched his school gates fade into the distance, what little hope Ryoma had regained in the past week faded into nonexistence.

* * *

AN: It's finally finished! Yatta! This chapter was really like pulling teeth, but I hope it was worth the wait at least a little bit. Please let me know what you all think!

I realize that this was more of an interlude than an actual chapter, but it is completely necessary! I really needed to explain the motivations of each character and transition into the next part of the story, and now I think I have at least a but more of a grasp on each of the characters. The action returns in the next chapter, and the plot moves forward!

**Please review!**

Completed: 3.19.09.

**Edited: 1/25/13**


	7. Little Jumping Joan

AN: No, you're not hallucinating. Yes, this story really is back from the dead. I have no excuse except I was so busy with college I completely lost my passion for this story. Lately, though, I've been working on finishing any active stories I have so I can start new ones guilt free. And guess what? This is the only one left.

It took me almost two weeks to revise the first six chapters. No major changes have been made, so it's not necessary to reread anything unless you want to. The reason it took two weeks? I got through the first three chapters is two days, but then... my gosh, my writing just got so unbelievably _pretentious_! It was like I was channeling Atobe when I wrote it! It was actually painful to read.

But I got through it, cleaned it up as best I could, and here we are! A new chapter! Please enjoy!

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable's Changechildren.

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, OOC.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Seven

* * *

_Here I am,_

_Little jumping Joan._

_When nobody's with me,_

_I'm always alone._

-"Little Jumping Joan", a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

* * *

A little grey car rolled to a stop on a small bridge overlooking a creek. A middle-aged red haired woman in a skirt suit stepped out holding a small animal carrier, locking the door behind her. A teenage boy in the backseat watched, stricken, as she walked to the railing of the bridge and tossed the carrier into the water below. The woman returned to her car and drove away as the boy stared back toward the creek.

Kaidoh Kaoru was training per his usual routine under the bridge at the creek. There would only be a few more days until the weather became too cold for wading in the water, so he was doing his best to squeeze in as much training as possible. He was, as always, completely focused.

* * *

_Breathe in._

_Swing. Breathe out._

_**Swish**__!_

_Breathe in._

_Swing. Breathe out._

_**Swish**__!_

_Breathe in._

_Swing. Breathe out._

_**Splash**__!_

_Breathe in–_

_Wait a second! __**Splash**__?_

Kaoru looked up from his two hundred thirteenth fore-swing repetition and scanned his surroundings for the source of the sudden, unexpected sound. The water he was standing in was nearly icy cold; it was only his intense training that allowed him to remain for hours at a time. Any regular passerby would have to be insane to jump into the creek this close to winter, so what had caused the noise? Maybe someone dropped something off the bridge by mistake?

Kaoru scanned the water downstream and noticed what looked like a plastic crate slowly sinking. He began wading toward it to remove it from the creek (after all, he wouldn't want anyone to trip over it at a later date) and suddenly heard something, another faint sound that had him rushing to the crate.

It was the soft mewling of a cat.

In seconds Kaoru had pulled a tan cat carrier from the water, opened the metal door, and gently released the wet and shivering animal from its confines. Its long brown and white fur was soaking wet and matted down on its body, making it look too small for its big blue eyes and long white whiskers. He quickly took the poor creature into his arms and tucked it into his jacket, giving it as much warmth as possible.

Who could have done such a cruel thing, to leave a live cat to drown with no hope of escape? Kaoru looked to the animal's neck in search of tags, but there were none to be found. The cat let out a pathetic mewl and stared up at his savior, rubbing and licking his hand in thanks as he scratched around its neck. Something about those round, clear blue eyes was nagging at the back of his mind, though he wasn't quite sure what it was...

Wait. _Wait_ a _minute_! He _knew_ this cat!

But... why would Echizen ever let Karupin be tossed into a creek and left to drown?

* * *

Their new apartment was in a small, homey building in a clean, pleasant-looking neighborhood. The streets weren't overly crowded, the sidewalks were clean, and there was a healthy sprinkling of green grass and trees along every curb. A police station was two streets over, and a small clinic was just down the block. The apartment was on the third floor and consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, and a small kitchenette. It had western furnishings, and the walls were freshly painted a soft yellow. All in all, it was a nice place to live.

Ryoma sat on his bed as he listlessly looked around his new bedroom. The walls were bare; he didn't even have a window to look out of. He had a lamp on a desk filled with schoolbooks, and inside his closet were several sets of new gray school uniforms. The sheets on his bed were dark blue, and the floor was made of oak planks. There were no personal affects in sight, not even a tennis racket or yellow-green tennis ball.

He was so confused. What should he be doing? There were so many people telling him different things, and now he had been taken away from his home and everyone he knew. Everything around him was changing and moving so fast, he felt like he was being drowned in the wake of all the waves.

Ryoma guessed he would have to do his best to go with the flow. After all, it was easier to keep your head above water when floating on top as opposed to swimming against the current. He'd just keep his head down and take things as they came.

"Get out here, brat!"

Ryoma jerked from where he was seated and cautiously edged into the main room. His mother had her back turned to him, putting groceries away in the fridge and pantry. "Y-yes, ma'am?" he asked, hanging in the doorway.

Rinko finished what she was doing before facing her son and leaning back against the counter, arms crossed under her chest. "While you're living in my home," she began, "you will follow my rules. Rule number one: You do not touch any of my things without my express permission. Do you understand?" She glared, and Ryoma nodded hastily. She stared him down for a few long seconds before continuing.

"If you want to eat, you do chores. You set the table, do the dishes, and keep this place clean. You do _not_, under any circumstances, enter my bedroom. When you are here, you stay in your room and keep quiet unless you are using the bathroom or I call for you." She paused again, waiting for Ryoma to acknowledge her instructions. He did, and she laid out a few more rules.

"Every morning you get yourself up and to school on time. There will be an envelope marked 'lunch money' on the table for you. I don't care what you do when you're not here or at school, but if you aren't waiting right outside the door when I get home from work, you find somewhere else to sleep that night.

"That's all you need to know for now. If you break any of these rules, I can promise you will not like the consequences. Is that clear?"

Ryoma nodded one more time, but when it became clear she wanted a more definitive answer, he said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Hmm." She glared at him skeptically, trying to determine if he was being truthful or not, before straightening and moving to finish unpacking the few boxes still lying in the middle of the floor. "Either get out of here or get to your room," she called over her shoulder. "Just remember that if you leave now you don't get back in until after work tomorrow. Uniforms are in your closet, you start school in the morning."

Ryoma decided against leaving and returned to his room. He could always explore the area after classes the next day, and he preferred to know that he had a guaranteed bed. Even though it was only early evening and he had yet to eat dinner, he laid down and went to sleep, emotionally drained.

* * *

Ryoma awoke to the blaring of an alarm clock. He groaned, burying his face into the pillow, before reaching out and shutting off the noise, knocking the small black clock onto the floor in the process. He lounged for a few minutes, slowly returning to the land of the living. Eventually

Ryoma dragged himself of bed and into one if his new uniforms.

Walking into the kitchen area, he was surprised to find his mother waiting for him by the door. "Hurry up," she barked, "I will _not_ be late for work because of you."

Ryoma followed her out of the apartment and down to the parking garage, where he was ushered into the backseat of her car. "Pay attention," Rinko told him, turning the key and pulling out of the parking space. "After today, you are responsible for finding your own way to school. If you get lost because you were daydreaming this morning, it's your own fault."

Ten minutes later, Ryoma was walking into the main office of Hyotei Academy. He waited for the secretary to finish her phone call, and then he was directed to classroom 1-B. Ryoma hung back outside the sliding door, trying to collect his thoughts.

Never in a million years had he expected to attend one of Seigaku's rival schools. He could only hope that he didn't run into any familiar faces any time soon; Hyotei was a private school that ran on the escalator system, which meant that students from the junior high could attend the high school without having to pass an entrance exam. Ryoma wasn't sure how he had gained admittance in the middle of the fall semester without taking the exam himself, but he was pretty sure that monkey king Atobe probably had something to do with it.

Steeling himself, Ryoma knocked on the door. The teacher was obviously expecting him, since he didn't seem at all surprised by his appearance. Ryoma stood quietly through an awkward introduction, briefly glancing at each of the students in the room. No one he knew so far. Good.

There was no guarantee that none of them knew him, though, so he'd have to wait and see how the day went. Hyotei's tennis club was ungodly large, and then there were the irritating cheerleaders that were at every match, so it was possible that someone would recognize him and come to pester him at breaks and lunchtime. Ryoma chose an empty seat in the back if the room, silently communicating _back off, leave me alone_ to the rest of the class.

Some of the topics covered that morning were a bit different from what Seigaku had been teaching, but overall Ryoma didn't have much trouble following along. The class's homeroom teacher stayed with them until morning break, at which point Ryoma laid his head on his desk and pretended to take a nap. He didn't move until he heard their next instructor calling for quiet, at which point he buried himself firmly in his English workbook, choosing to knock out as much homework as possible rather than pay attention to some woman drone on and on about something he knew better than she did.

When lunchtime came around, Ryoma decided to hang back and wait for the halls to empty before venturing out to explore the school. Unfortunately, his plan backfired on him.

"Echizen-kun!" One of his classmates was fighting the crowd back to Roma's desk. "Echizen-kun," he said, "I'm Kouno Akira. Haruno-sensei asked me to show you around, since I'm class representative."

Ryoma sighed. "Whatever," he said, standing and heading toward the door. "Just as long as you show me how to avoid the crowds."

Kouno jogged to catch up, guiding the new student through the building. Ryoma half ignored, half listened to him point out various places such as different clubrooms and the teacher's lounge and made a note of where the bathrooms were.

"This back stairwell's usually empty," Kouno told him, "because it's mostly out of the way. It takes a few minutes longer to get to where you're going, but if you're heading to lunch it's actually faster because all the other halls are clogged up."

Indeed, despite having left late, the two boys were some of the first to arrive in the cafeteria. "Food's along the far wall," Kouno said, "and drinks are over there. Checkout's near the drinks. I brought a bento, but you can come find me after you get your food if you want." He waved and settled at a table with a few other students from their class.

Ryoma ignored the lines for food, since his mother had neglected to give him money in her rush that morning. Instead he doubled back and found an empty classroom, where he lay down for a nap.

* * *

Keigo strutted through the corridors, Oshitari beside him. The two friends had left the cafeteria early to get to the music room with enough time to warm up, tune, and play through the duet they were preparing. The bespectacled boy was listening to Keigo rant without complaint, nodding an interjecting at appropriate moments. He had enough experience to know that Keigo tended to criticize more than usual whenever he was fretting or anxious about something, and he was doing his part to let him cope however he needed.

Today was supposed to be Echizen's first day at Hyotei Academy. Part of Keigo had wanted to wait for him at the main entrance that morning, but he knew that was not a prudent choice of action. Atobes did not hold the hands of their associates as they walked through life. Atobes were the ones pulling the strings behind the scenes, accomplishing everything as discretely as possible. Therefore, Keigo had not sought out Echizen at any time that morning, allowing the first year to go about his day on his own.

As they turned into the music room, Keigo immediately made a beeline to the cupboard where the violins were stored. Of course, he himself kept a Stradivarius at him home, but he refused to bring it onto the campus except for concerts, so during class he used one of the spares provided by the school. Oshitari, meanwhile, sat himself at the grand piano and arranging his sheet music. As Keigo was setting up his music stand, he was interrupted by his partner.

"Hey, Atobe," he called, "it seems we have an audience."

Keigo scanned the room. On his right was the actual classroom, rows of desks facing a chalkboard, a couple of five-pronged metal chalk holders sitting in the chalk tray. Behind him were the instrument closets. On his left was the grand piano, and beyond that were stacks of chairs lined up against the empty wall. Keigo didn't see anyone upon his first overlook, but then he noticed a small figure laying beneath the piano.

Keigo smirked. How ironic that the object of his preoccupation should appear without warning. He had expected Echizen to avoid him like the plague for as long as humanly possible, and yet there he was sleeping on the floor not ten feet away.

"Should we wake him up?" Oshitari asked, and Keigo shook his head.

"He's fine," Keigo told him. "If he doesn't wake up before break is over we'll rouse him, but if he does then let him be awed by our prowress."

Keigo pretended not to notice his pianist rolling his eyes as the two began running their scales and arpeggios. Five minutes later he tuned his violin, and then he lost himself in one of Mozart's finest works.

They practiced one straight run through before nit picking certain phrases and passages in the semi-privacy of the abandoned music room. They both became absorbed in the music, only pausing momentarily every now and then to pencil in a marking or consult with one another. In what seemed like no time at all Oshitari glanced up at the clock and announced there were only five minutes until classes resumed.

Keigo gently replace his violin and bow in their case before lacing his fingers together and stretching his arms out in front of him. Ducking his head to check on their guest, he was surprised to find that Echizen had not once stirred from where he was resting. "Go ahead and wake him up," he told his friend.

Oshitari stood from the piano. "I can't believe he slept through everything," he said. He crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet, and nudged at The younger boy. "Echizen, class starts in less than five minutes. Everyone else will be here soon, and you need to get back to your own classroom."

Slowly, those almond shaped eyes opened, blinking heavily. Echizen sprung up from his position, banging his head and making the piano ring with low notes and vibrations. "Ouch!" He rubbed his head and slid out from under the large instrument. "Geez, don't do that!"

Oshitari rolled his eyes. "You're welcome," he muttered, straightening and gathering his fallen music. "You'd better get going, or you'll be late for class."

"Che." Echizen strode out the door, not giving him a second glance.

"Cheery fellow, isn't he?"

Keigo let out an undignified snort. "The niceties have never much concerned him," he pointed out. "Be grateful he didn't insult either of us."

"That's probably because he didn't realize you were here, too."

Keigo didn't bother to respond to that, instead turning back to his music and running a few more drills before the instructor arrived.

* * *

Ryoma was relieved when the final bell rang at the end of the day. He had awoken earlier feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks only to incur a migraine not ten seconds later. And then, of course, he was greet by the face of that long-haired guy with the glasses. Ryoma had recognized him from tennis tournaments, but the name still escaped him. He had beaten a hasty retreat before the situation had gotten any more awkward than it already was.

Now he just wanted to get out of this place before he came across anyone else who knew him. He slipped into the hall and snuck down the back stairwell, making his way to the shoe lockers with little resistance. He hurried out to the main courtyard, but before he was able to reach the front gates he was surrounded by a group of boys.

There were six of them in total. From their uniforms Ryoma could see two were first years , three were second years, and one was a third year. The oldest (and tallest) seemed to be their ringleader. He smirked nastily as he motioned for the others to encircle Ryoma.

"Well well, what have we here?" the ape said. "If it isn't the first-year genius, Echizen Ryoma. You're a bit far from Seigaku, aren't you?"

"Che." Ryoma tightened his grip on his bag, irritated. He was decidedly _not_ in the mood for this. "You've from Hyotei's tennis club, right?" he asked. "Maybe if you spent more time practicing than harassing freshmen you'd have been at least a bench warmer instead of a cheerleader. No wonder Seigaku creamed you guys."

"Hey!"

"Why you–"

"Little brat!"

Mission accomplished. Now Ryoma was the one wearing a smirk, while Ape Man and his cronies were scowling. It was so much fun to get under the skin of worthless bullies! Of course, there was always the downside to poking the sleeping dragon with a stick, which was staring to rear its ugly head as Ape Man motioned for two of his goons to grab Ryoma's arms. Ryoma didn't lose his smirk, though; he refused to give them the satisfaction of having intimidated him. This also served the dual purpose of annoying Ape Man even further.

Ape Man cracked his knuckles menacingly, but he was interrupted before he could do anything more. From behind Ryoma came the sound of a throat clearing. The idiot in front of him froze, and he could feel the ones holding him tense.

"Chiba-kun, greeting our newest kouhai, I see."

Ryoma actually cringed because now he knew that the one person he least wanted to see was standing behind him.

"A-Atobe!" Ape Man gulped, staggering back a couple steps. Thug 1 and Thug 2 dropped Ryoma's arms and took a few giant steps away. Meanwhile, the other three idiots made a break for it but were stopped short.

"Quite a welcome, everyone. Mind if we help out a bit?"

"O-Oshitari-sempai!" The same guy who woke Ryoma from his midday nap had his arms crossed and was glaring down the runaways, forcing them backwards toward the others.

Atobe stepped forward, slinging an arm across Ryoma's shoulders. Ryoma shrugged it off. "How kind of you to make Echizen feel at home here," Atobe told them. "I'm sure Nakamori-sensei

would be delighted to be informed your methods."

"Ah, no, really," Chiba stammered, "i-it's all just a, a misunderstanding, really!"

"Yes, I'm certain there's no need to inform the coach, Atobe." Oshitari suddenly was leerign behind Chiba and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "After all," he explained, "surely Chiba-kun and his friends aren't stupid enough to pick a fight with one of your most respected rivals."

Chiba swallowed twice, hard. He and the others were practically squirming under all the scrutiny. "Hmm," Atobe mused. "Well, perhaps they can prove their sincerity. What do you think, Oshitari? A month's worth of meal tickets is quite a warm welcome, yes?"

"Yes, I agree. We'll let you go take care of that now, shall we?"

Given that out, Chiba and his crew raced away with their tails between their legs.

Ryoma started to walk away while the others were distracted, but they soon caught up with him. "I apologize, Echizen, for the frankly appalling behavior of my classmate and fellow club members. I do hope their reparations will be of some use to you."

"Buzz off, Monkey King. I didn't need your help." Ryoma sped up his pace, but Atobe didn't take the hint.

"Ore-sama would like you to join me at my home for a tennis match."

"No way."

"Nonsense. You must obviously be intimidated by such grandeur as the Atobe mansion, but rest assured, my staff shall treat you like royalty, not a peasant."

"I said no. Now get your ears cleaned out and get lost, Monkey King."

Atobe frowned, letting the insult slide. "Echizen, as your sempai–"

Ryoma spun around, glaring up at the pest. "You are _not_ my sempai, and you are _not_ my friend. You are a pompous busybody who gets his kicks by sticking his nose into other people's business. Now go find a banana or give orders to your subjects or _whatever_ it is monkeys do, but just leave. Me. _Alone_!"

Ryoma stormed off, savoring the indignant expression on Atobe's face as he turned the corner and chose a direction at random. He breathed deeply, trying to cool his temper. Why couldn't anyone just leave him alone? What happened to him was _his_ business and _only_ his. He knew how to take care of himself.

He could handle whatever came his way. He could do it on his own. He didn't need anyone else.

Ryoma looked around. The street he was on was full of modern houses, with beautiful green yards with trees and flower beds lining the sidewalks. It was a picture perfect neighborhood. He would bet that underneath the facade everything was just as perfect. Two loving parents who rose their children to uphold the family name. A grandparent or two to offer wisdom and advice. Maybe a dog or a fish.

Each house was its own universe. Each person only cared about their own little world, and anyone who pretended otherwise had an ulterior motive. Everyone was only out for himself. If someone or something got in the way of a person's happiness, tried to invade his world, that person would fight back to keep everything he cared about exactly the way he liked it.

Ryoma just didn't fit in anybody's world. His mother hated him. Both his parents' lives had been torn apart and turned upside down by him. He had begun to think that maybe he fit in at Seigaku, with Momo-sempai and Fuji-sempai and Tezuka-buchou and the rest. But he'd been wrong, because they were doing fine without him, he knew. They probably hadn't even noticed he was gone.

So for now, Ryoma would do his best to stay out of the way. He'd get by on his own as best as he could. Because the only person he could really rely on was himself.

He kept walking for hours, just getting to know the area and letting his mind wander. He learned where the local burger joint was, what the library hours were, and where the closest train station was. He found the park and spent a while walking through the trees, then settled on a bench by the pond until the street lamps started to light and the sun had almost set. Then he stood, stretched, shouldered his school bag, and headed for the apartment building.

He went through the parking garage to get to the stairwell. His mother's car back where it had been earlier that morning. He climbed the three flights of stairs to the third floor landing and crept down the hall to number 3J. he turned the doorknob, hoping that maybe his mother had gone for a short walk or down the the laundry room and left the door unlocked, but it didn't budge. Out of options for the moment, too tired to go elsewhere, Ryoma settled in on the floor, using his bag as a pillow, and went to sleep.

* * *

AN: It's done! Finally, progress has been made! I'll be doing my best from here in out to keep going without any big breaks while I can, but I refuse to make promises. I think for lent, in addition to giving something up, I'll make a promise to write at least a little but everyday.

I hope this chapter was worth the insanely long wait. As I said, I'll try to make updates to this story on a regular basis until it's finished. Please let me know your thoughts.

-Sugarpony

_Like it? Hate it? Tell me what works and what doesn't and the story will only get better! Review!_

**Completed: 2/11/2013**


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